Kinda Outta Luck
by HalcyonSeasons
Summary: Bella is homeless, in a flaky relationship (but always wanting more), and afraid of figuring out who she is. Jacob is hopeless, a nervous workaholic, and afraid of relationships because he can't find the "right" girl. They eventually discover that they need each other more than they thought they ever would. Maybe trusting almost-strangers isn't such a bad thing after all. AH.
1. Chapter One

_**Kinda Outta Luck**_

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_Time to give in to the kindness of strangers_

_Lana Del Rey, "Kinda Outta Luck"_

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**Chapter One**

"Fuck."

I approached my apartment on that cloudy afternoon, expecting to be just as carefree as I had been when I'd left, but instead found my items—every last one of them—strewn out on the sidewalk. I accidentally stepped on one of my books, and managed to even stub my toe on a box.

The day was September thirteenth, my twenty-first birthday, and I had been evicted from my apartment. I was supposed to pay the rent on the first day of the month, but I'd held it off. I'd done it before, of course. I'd even seen the eviction notice. The landlord just had to be an ass this time, though. I was homeless now. I was officially twenty-one years old, freshly jobless, and now homeless, just to make things dandier.

But wait.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

I was pretty sure that my troubles all began when I was seventeen. I'd moved to Forks to live with my father, Charlie Swan, and I'd thought things would be okay. Small town meant small problems, right? Wrong.

I'd never been one to be into telling long, drawn-out stories, and I still wasn't, so it was easy to say that my life went to shit once I met the two loves of my life: Edward Cullen the loser and Mary Jane the mistress. Mr. Cullen and weed. Weed and Mr. Cullen. They went together like a bird and its feathers. They were both great company to keep, and that had hit me hard in the summer after the eleventh grade. For my senior year, though, I'd tried to get over the flings and actually _make_ something out of myself. That hadn't worked to the best of advantage. I'd made it out of high school just barely passing, and Edward had done the same. In that July after graduation, Edward had left me for community college (or so he'd told me). He'd just had to go across the country, leaving me with nothing but a broken mind and a pregnancy that had chilled me to the bone, but I'd gotten rid of. In that next September, Edward had come back for me. Community college hadn't been for him and it still wasn't. His father didn't support him anymore, so he ended up stuck in the same shitty apartment complex as I had. I hadn't thought I would forgive him. I was more addicted than I'd thought.

Shady Pointe (yes, that was the name, I shit you not), the apartment complex I lived in at the outskirts of Forks, was where I'd had my most memorable times. High times, low times. Tons of them. I'd moved in the week after I'd turned eighteen. I'd been a rebel, and I still was. All I'd needed in life was Edward and pot. I'd been a total ass to Charlie, so Shady Pointe was really where I'd been destined to end up. I'd had a steady job at the Newtons' store, so I'd been able to move in okay. Edward and I had even started together until we'd had one of our many breakups over the years and he'd decided to get a place himself. It was like his haven to sell and do weed… without me, of course. He didn't like to include me that much.

Edward Cullen, my upstairs neighbor and on-again/off-again boyfriend, was a total scrub. He lied, he cheated, and he was the grimiest thing I'd ever approached. He was a flake and he didn't really love me, but I'd always kept forking over my little money to him, back when I'd had a job. He was always chasing paper, and doing a terrible job at it. He thought he was this gangster… this hot-shot with dreams as big as his father's paychecks. Edward never had to work a day in his life, and he never wanted to, even when his daddy's wallet was no longer his personal ATM. I couldn't leave Edward alone, though. I couldn't if I tried. Even as I saw him bring more girls than I could count on one hand up to his apartment a week, I never stopped loving his pathetic character. Maybe it was because he was a reflection of me, but the fearless me that I was afraid of. He knew how wretched he was; he embraced it and lived like nothing was wrong. I would watch in his shadows, wishing I could care as little as he did. In that way, I admired him. I understood him. Oh, and I loved him. I loved him to death. He could think he was the worst—because he _was_— but he could also act like he was the best. And he was.

Shady Pointe was, in all honesty, a very shady place. I had my little group of friends, and by _friends_ I meant the people that Edward and I frequently got high with. Our little posse held up just fine. We kept each other's secrets. Once I'd discovered that Garrett and Kate (yeah, we were a pretty big group) were just like Edward and I, we'd all promised to not rat each other out. It wasn't like I'd been evicted for doing weed, since Garrett and Kate never told and the other neighbors never cared, but that little conundrum danced in the back of my mind.

I always had a feeling that college wouldn't introduce me to _my_ people. Shady Pointe was like college to me, minus the grades or the expectations. It was a pretty, secluded, party nation that the city couldn't give me in the same way.

Shady Pointe was like the endless celebration of doing absolutely nothing. There were party streamers and balloons up all the time, even if it wasn't someone's birthday. There was always something to drink or something to smoke and Christmas lights ("Christmas lights make everything nicer," as Kate had said) shining, even if it wasn't a holiday.

On hot summer nights, the less pathetic of all of us (meaning Garrett and Kate) would bring out their guitars and play all night long. On cold winter mornings, we would all hole up in Kate's place, since she had a fireplace, and drink all day long like there was nothing wrong, but in reality, everything was wrong. That was why we were here. Kate and Garrett were like the nicer reflection of Edward and I. The image I wanted Edward and I to have. Kate and Garrett didn't live together, but they seemed much more like a couple. They loved each other unconditionally, whether they were sober or not. The party never ended, though. As a group, we never all had many friends. When someone would knock on one of our doors, we'd all be utterly surprised, since we didn't really know other people.

But this party—this endless, fantastic, strange party at Shady Pointe—would be over for me. Maybe Edward, Garrett, and Kate would lose contact or not be friends anymore. Or worse: maybe they would replace me.

_No, Bella,_ I told myself. _No. They can't replace you. You've known them since all of you were eighteen. So what if you've been evicted? That doesn't mean you can't still see them._

I really needed to get my shit together.

It was then that I realized that I was still standing on one of my books. I stepped back, worried that I'd ruined it, but felt a slight sense of relief. It was just my battered copy of _The Count of Monte Cristo._ Huh. If only _I_ could find treasure, become rich, and get revenge on everybody now.

I didn't know what to do, exactly, so all I could do was pick up my items and try to sort them out. This was embarrassing. Standing on the sidewalk of an apartment complex, picking up all my shit, having been evicted on my twenty-first birthday. It wasn't like anybody was watching me, since the complex was fairly vacated for the most part, anyway, but it was still just as embarrassing. I, Bella Swan, had fucked up once again.

Okay, so I hadn't paid the rent, someone could have seen me dealing weed, and I hadn't exactly kept my place very quiet, so maybe I'd had this coming, anyway. Go figure. This just sucked, though. Why did my own bad habits do all of this to me? It was so fucking annoying. I wasn't supposed to be like this. If my mother, Renee, knew what I was doing or how I was living now, she would give me a well-deserved slap in the face. I hadn't grown up in a bad household. Sure, Renee had gone through a lot of men, but I'd lived in a nice, safe home. I hadn't grown up around drugs or boys that could turn me bad or anything like that. I'd used to be a good girl.

If anyone I used to know saw me like this now, I would receive _many _well-deserved slaps in the face.

In a way, I wished I'd had Edward's child. Or a child in general. Who cared if it was Edward's? The landlords don't kick out people who have kids. How easy would it be to fake being pregnant now?

_God, I am ridiculous._

Cursing to myself, I tried organizing some of my things. The tears of a total failure welled up in my eyes, and they had just slipped out when I heard a familiar, cocky voice speak. "What's all your stuff doing out here?"

I stood up, turned around, and was now facing Edward. Mr. Reliable… not.

"What do you think, jackass?" I asked bitterly. "What, did I give the impression that I'm moving into my truck? I got evicted."

He shrugged and lit the cigarette hanging from his lips. He was such a James Dean wannabe. "Sucks."

"Yeah, I'm out of luck, aren't I?" I asked pathetically.

"Yeah, kinda," he agreed.

"So," I said in an attempt at a nice tone, "aren't you going to invite me to move in with you?"

"You can't stay with me forever," he warned me.

I rolled my eyes. "I know, I know," I said. "Just… please? I mean, we're a couple, for one thing. Also, I'm homeless. You couldn't let me be homeless."

He shrugged. "Eh, maybe," he said easily.

_My God, he is so difficult._

Desperate, I went to my knees, laced my fingers together, and looked up at him. "Edward, I am on my knees. I'm begging you. _Please_."

He smirked. "Who's the best man in the world?"

"You are."

"Who's the best person you've ever met?"

"You are, Edward."

_Anything for his own pride._

"Alright," he said, "come on. Get your stuff."

I quickly stood up. "Any help?" I asked. "I mean, it's my birthday."

"I guess." He helped me take my items up to his apartment, which was exactly one floor above mine. A major change must have happened since the last time I'd been there, though.

Edward's apartment was disgusting, to say the least.

You see, I used to spend the night there a lot, back when Edward and I were in our _on_ phase. We'd been _off_ for a while now, and it was easy to say that he needed me. I wasn't particularly clean myself, but I could have sworn something had decayed in his tiny apartment.

There was trash—_everywhere_. There were clothes (of different genders)—_everywhere. _I couldn't even find a place to stand without standing on anything. This would kill Kate, but even his Christmas lights were off.

"Sorry about the little mess," he said, walking into the apartment behind me.

"How long has it been since this place was cleaned?" I asked, turning to him.

"Um… when was the last time you spent the night?"

"Fuck," I said, my eyes wide. "It's been six weeks."

"It's been that long, then."

I shook my head. Just when I thought my life sucked, Edward always proved that his life was worth. I was both annoyed and grateful at that.

I took a box into the one bedroom of the apartment—Edward's bedroom, of course—and set the box next to the mattress on the floor. The entire place smelled like weed—_all the time_—but his bedroom was worse. The mattress smelled of… sex _and_ weed. Edward's lifestyle in a nutshell. That was my lifestyle, too, but at least I was a little conflicted about it. At least I didn't make that _too _prominent. I did it, but I didn't brag about it.

I'd tried living with Edward plenty of times before, and those had never worked out. I could only pray for things to work out now. My state of being depended on it.

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_**A/N: ***vintage Lady Gaga voice (I don't know if anyone will get this)* Hello, everybody! So, yeah, I've started a new fanfic. I keep writing these half-baked one-shots that some people seem to enjoy, but I think it's time for a story. An actual story. Since ending Gods and Monsters, I realized that I needed to do more. This is what I have. I was going to write the entire story and then slowly publish it, but that's not the case. I couldn't hide the first chapter any longer. I have part of the second chapter complete, but I'm going to redo it. Now, if anybody wants to beta this, let me know. I'd love a beta, but it's way harder to find an available one than I thought. Bleh. Any volunteers?_

_So with the basic story stuff, here's the deal..._

_-Genres include: All-human, humor, some angst, and drama. Changes will be made._

_-Pairings include: some Bella/Edward, mostly Jacob/Bella, and maybe Kate/Garrett. Changes will be made._

_-Rating: M for language, drug use, some sexual situations, and all that. Changes will most likely be made._

_Also, this is like an alternative Destructive Desire for me. Take that as you may._

_And that was the first chapter of Kinda Outta Luck, plus my opening note discussing some stuff. I'm excited to share this story, and I hope you guys (whoever's reading this) will enjoy!_

_(Oh, and yes, I know the cover - or lack thereof - sucks. I'll make one sometime.)_

_I also loooove reviews. ;)_

_xo, MusicTwilightLove_


	2. Chapter Two

_**A/N:** Okay. I love you guys. I love all of you. Thanks so much for the favorites, follows, and reviews. You guys keep me going. So, here is the second chapter. I don't think I've found my beat on where I want this story to head, but I'm getting there. Trust me._

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**Chapter Two**

My mother was the only person in my life who was ever completely honest with me. Her honesty was sometimes so brutal that it hurt, but in the end, I became a stronger person. At least, before moving to Forks, I did.

All of the "just be yourself" talk was utter crap to Renee, and she had never stopped reminding me. I'd been just six years old when she'd first told me that I had to fake my way through life, since there was no other way to make something out of myself being who I was. I'd been seven years old when she'd first told me that nothing in life would ever be easy for me if I just acted like myself. I'd been eight years old when she'd first told me that I could become anything that I wanted to be if I didn't act like myself.

For a while, I'd wanted to be a princess. I'd sort of acted like it, anyway, minus the money aspect. Being raised on a teacher's salary (plus a few random, bigger ones every once in a while) hadn't made life itself feel very royal to me, but I'd never stopped acting like I was a princess.

For a short amount of time, I'd wanted to be a model. That never happened, though. I'd grown up to be a five-foot-four woman with a weird nose, a top lip too full for the bottom one, never-arched-correctly eyebrows, and Dumbo-sized ears. I'd later come to the conclusion that I could be a hand model, if anything. That was around the same time I'd stopped parking myself in front of the television, taking in the falseness of modeling shows. Anything that I would ever hear Tyra Banks say on television was a lie. If people looking for the "next big thing" were interested in "quirky girls," then I should have been getting called every half hour since puberty. What lies. My mother had never been wrong about society and its crap, and even though she didn't talk to me anymore, I knew she was still never wrong.

After my modeling dreams were crushed with the weight of puberty, I'd been a thousand different people. I'd behaved like anybody who wasn't myself, but that was only because I hadn't been aware of who that was. As of the moment, I still wasn't. I'd changed my hair. I'd changed my clothes. I'd changed nearly everything about me many times.

As of now, though, I was living a steady life. A steady persona, in more detail. I'd found something that I could maintain. Something that I would never get sick of. I had become something that wasn't easy, but the fun and influence made up for it.

I was a whore.

(It's okay to laugh; I was a whore, homeless, jobless, and dating a loser. Edward always believed in open relationships, after all. Everything about me was laughable.)

Well, to put things at a different view—a dictionary view— at what I was, I was really "a woman who engages in promiscuous sexual intercourse, usually for money," or a "prostitute," or a "harlot," or a "strumpet." (Yeah, I didn't know that was a word, either.)

Shady Pointe was like a party to me, so I did my makeup perfectly everyday, and I dressed to impress. The dictionary was wrong somewhere, though. I wasn't the traditional, typical whore. I didn't do it for money. After growing up without it, I'd come to the conclusion that money was just a materialistic thing. I didn't want it. All I wanted was to make a change.

In all honesty, I didn't actually _do_ anything for money. As much as I needed it (especially these days), I didn't believe in it. I refused to. Money controls people. I already had weed to do that; money didn't need to take part in that, too. In two thousand twelve, there was so much sex in the society I lived in. In my occasional breaks from Shady Pointe, I would actually go out to the real world, and the amount of sex made me sick. I'd thought the sleaziness was just an Edward thing, but the world was like him, and it was the ugliest thing. That didn't mean I didn't follow it, though. My mother would want me to fake it until I make it, and that was just what I was doing.

All the double standards frustrated me. If men wanted to behave more promiscuously than they already did, then it was totally okay. Not out of the norm at all. If a woman wanted to behave promiscuously, then it turned into a desperate call for attention, as if women got much attention in the first place. If I wanted to show my ass all the time—which I did—then I would be called a whore—which I was, in the real world—because I was considered "desperate"—which I wasn't. But what if I wanted to show my ass all the time _not_ to seek attention, but to feel free? What if I wanted to make a statement? I tried to make a statement every single day as I got ready in my heartbreaker getups. Because I was a young woman doing this, I was always called attention-seeking… but I eventually got used to it. After all, _wasn't_ I attention-seeking? Anybody who wants to make a change needs to seek a little attention.

Nobody would ever know, though. Nobody would be aware that even though I was messed up, I wanted to make a change.

Nobody had to know, anyway.

Everybody assumed what they saw, and what they saw was a heartbreaker. A skank. A ditz. A pothead. I knew how to be a heartbreaker, alright, and it was easy to behave like a skank or a ditz. I knew what people wanted. I over-thought just about everything, but then again, it was very easy to be dodgy for me, because I thought like a guy in some ways. And in all honesty, like my mother would say, I loved myself for everything about me. Nobody could ever love me, because I moved on so quickly before they had the chance to admit it (and Edward was merely an asshole who couldn't love anybody), but that didn't mean I couldn't do the job myself. I didn't know who I was exactly, but this persona—one of the many personas of me—was definitely lovable. I could admit it perfectly: I was a narcissist. But there is nothing wrong with loving yourself.

For someone who considered herself a failure and a half, I truly was in love with myself. I loved to be in front of the mirror. I loved to watch myself get dressed and apply my makeup and style my hair. When I was finished, I would always lean forward some more and kiss the mirror like nothing was wrong. According the mirror, I was beautiful—and I was. My beauty and youth were the last things I had left. I didn't have a job, I didn't have a home, and my truck was shitty. My mind was broken. I didn't even have a life. But I didn't need any of that. I'd grown up without money, after all; it wasn't in my nature to give it much value. Beauty and youth was all I needed. I was young. I was beautiful. I was fantastic. I was Bella Swan.

I was also scared. Living in fear was something that I wasn't proud of. I was a whore, and I could admit to that, but I didn't like it. I lived in Edward's admirable yet broken shadow, and I was jealous of him. He was the biggest whore on the planet, and he didn't even have to try to be happy in the end, whereas I was also a whore, but I tried too hard and ended up with not much at all. Edward could sleep with a thousand different women and not feel bad at all; I could sleep with one guy besides him and feel like absolute shit. Edward was okay with cheating and being open; I wasn't, but I always did cheat to prove to both him and myself that I wasn't owned. I belonged to no one, but I belonged to everyone. All I yearned for was power and control. The day that I would settle would be the day that I died.

It just wasn't fair. None of it. Nothing was fair between men and women to me, though. Not even the coverage of Shady Pointe could shield me from that ugly truth, because when the real world hit me, it hit me hard.

It was going to hit me even harder tonight, but I didn't care. I was Bella Swan, and I was finally twenty-one years old.

Much to my surprise, Edward left me alone a lot of the time. After I moved in that afternoon, he left for "business." It was always business with him. He was "chasing his dreams," as he called it. I knew what that really meant: whoring around and knowing that nobody could say a word about it to him, especially me.

But who was to say that I couldn't do the same?

By nine o'clock that night, I had a mantra to go by: _If he likes me, he takes me home_. I said that over and over again in my head as I spent hours getting ready. Kate was going to take me out. I could actually hit a nightclub for the first time, legally.

I was going to be like Edward for the night. I felt like I was the worst—because I was—but I was going to act like I was the best, because I still was. I was unstoppable.

I didn't have the time to wipe off the lipstick from the mirror, so the red print of my lips was tattooed there on the glass like a work of art. When Kate pounded on my—or Edward's—door at about ten fifteen that night, I had just finished getting ready. When I swung open the door, her eyes widened a bit, only she didn't look that surprised. Kate never really looked surprised because she always expected the unexpected.

"How do I look?" I asked with a smile, twirling around. I was wearing a simple black dress and black heels with a clutch, but I knew I looked good. I always did.

Kate's eyebrows jumped slightly. "I've gotta give it up," she said. "You clean up fast, Swan. First you're picking your shit off the ground and then you act like nothing's wrong."

"Thank you, I try."

We left the apartment, and as we made our way down the first flight of stairs (I tried really, really hard to not slip down the stairs in my heels), Kate made conversation. "So, love," she began, "where would you like to raise hell on your twenty-first birthday?"

"You're the older one," I reminded her. She wasn't much older, though, as she had turned twenty-one only in August. "Guide me to my fate."

"Hmm… We'll have to go to Port Angeles for that."

"Alright," I agreed. "I'll follow you wherever you go. Only you're driving."

Kate laughed her airy, easy laugh. "Of course. I'll even pay for your drinks if a guy doesn't first."

"You know a guy will," I said. "Why wouldn't he?"

Kate laughed again in agreement with me, and I was positive that tonight would make up for the shitty afternoon I'd had. I really did clean up fast. I couldn't function well if I didn't.

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To keep things short, I had fun. I was liked, I was taken home, and I did what I did. I didn't know his name, and I knew he didn't care for mine, but I felt the sense of power and control that I ached for. I was like this feminist disguised as a loser, or vice-versa. I was a heartbreaker, and on the surface, I didn't mind. Nobody did.

Well, except for Edward.

He was such a guy… such a hypocrite. When I cracked open the door to his apartment, he was already awake, like he was waiting for me… waiting to judge me. He sat on the floor of the small living room, not even using his only chair, and stared at the box television positioned on the floor. From what it looked and sounded like, Edward was really enticed. I was witnessing a dying man—almost a zombie—wasting away at the heavy metal hour on TV, and he couldn't be bothered.

"Hi," I said solemnly, still standing at the front door. I'd given up without even trying. Sometimes I liked to ignore him so I could feel in control, but in reality, I cherished him _so damn much_ and I never wanted to leave him alone.

It was too late now; Edward was ignoring me this time, instead of the other way around.

I walked to the living room and sat down next to him on the floor. I'd seen the heavy metal hours on television only a thousand times. Tonight—or this early morning—was the vintage hour. The screen's reflection blared on Edward's face, and the volume was way too high. I had absolutely nothing to say to him now, because he had nothing to say to me, so I just stared at him. And you know what I saw?

I saw a lost man. It was all in his eyes.

His green eyes had been beautiful. When Edward and I had first met, his eyes were the first thing I'd fallen in love with. They'd been my weakness _and_ my strength. Now, those beautiful orbs were glazed over… and dead. They were corpses of the beauty that used to be Edward. I was in love with a dying man, and there wasn't a thing I could do about it.

I'd wanted to help him, back when it was a possibility. I was always one to try to fix other people before properly fixing myself first, and Edward was like a project to me. Or he'd used to be. I'd wanted to take him in and paint over all the ugly cracks to make him beautiful again. I'd just wanted to save him from himself. There was no use in trying to save him anymore, though; he was a virus, and I was far infected.

Just when I was sure that he wouldn't talk to me, his lips moved, and words came out in his gravelly voice. "You decided to come home?"

"Of course I did," I replied.

"You're not wasted," he observed, still not looking at me.

I kept my eyes on his sideburns; they weren't intimidating like his eyes were. "I got a coffee afterward."

"After the club or the guy?"

"The guy."

"So you cheated on me—again."

_Hypocrisy at its finest. _"Did _you_ have anyone over?" I asked, even though I already knew. The entire apartment smelled like it.

He nodded.

At least he wasn't lying. He knew I didn't like to be lied to, but most of the time he did it, anyway. He never had boundaries, and he never felt bad about anything he did.

_So, why am I still with him?_

I had no idea.

Well, okay, there was the fact that I could never make it on my own, but I never left him to try. I loved him, but I couldn't stay. All of the hope and stars and inspiration had left his eyes a long time ago. I didn't want to waste away like him. Not anymore. I'd already wasted my teenage years, and I didn't want to waste my time as an adult, if that was even what I was. Sometimes I felt like I was stuck in my teenage years because I never really had one. My innocence had been taken away and I didn't know what to do about it, so I was in a state of dreaming. I was an idle teen, and I didn't know how to get out.

I wrapped my arms around Edward and pressed my forehead to his bicep. I want to tell him _thank you_ and _fuck you_ at the same time. He'd helped me see how bad everything was between us, but it shouldn't have taken so long. I had enough problems with myself; Edward wasn't helping me. I didn't need that.

I look up at him again, and his eyes stayed on the television screen, vacant and glassy. He was screwed up and brilliant at the same time. So special, so unusual… so destructive. It was a shame how vivid my desire was for him.

"I wonder if you know that I'm going to leave you," was the last thing I told him that early morning. He never answered me.

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_**A/N: **Whoo. That was the second chapter. Things are gonna get going soon, I promise. But I'm curious... What would you like to see happen next?_

_Reviews are nice; I love knowing what the actual hell my readers are thinking. :p_

_MTL._


	3. Chapter Three

_**A/N:** This was actually kind of fun to write. I had to destroy a little bit of my Karrett feels, though. Lol. Enjoy!_

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**Chapter Three**

I had bounced back too easily by the next morning. Then again, it was sort of my job.

Even though my face and body resembled an animal that one might find on a nature show—one of the stranger animals—I did have my pretty moments. The mirror never lied.

With chocolate brown, doe eyes, bust-length waves of dark brown hair, and pink lips (that were, albeit, annoying with their unevenness), I had the power to break hearts. I broke a million hearts just for fun, anyway. Every time that I reminded myself that I was a homewrecker, I also remembered that it was the most fun job that the world had to offer me.

One amusing part of being a homewrecker was that I always looked good. Even though I was always dressed up with nowhere to go, I was still dressed, and I sat pretty and poised. It made me look better than Edward—all the time. I couldn't understand why I felt the need to compete against him instead of sticking for him, but that was what it eventually came down to. Maybe it was the control aspect of everything.

On the day after my twenty-first birthday, I could nearly hear the wonders of my pretty party nation—my home—calling my name. I felt exciting chills run all over my body, through my half-length sweater, short skirt, and heels. Edward wouldn't wake up until two in the afternoon, I guessed, and I was already out of the apartment and off to Garrett's by ten.

I walked three doors down the outdoors corridor to Garrett's apartment, following the trail of Christmas lights—there couldn't have been anyone living in the doors in between Edward's and Garrett's places to care. There were even more lights at his actual door, though. Kate wouldn't let him get away with _not_ having them.

And speaking of Kate, she wasn't with Garrett. At least, not yet. I discovered that once Garrett swung the front door open and told me his partner in crime wasn't there.

He was quick at changing partners, though. He let me know as soon as he let me into the apartment, his arm around my waist.

"Easy there, tiger," I told him with a smile. I took a seat on a chair in his living room and sighed. "Aren't you going to light me up with something?"

"Are you sure you deserve it?" he asked teasingly.

"You know I only get what I want 'cause I ask for it," I reminded him.

"True. Alright, hold on."

I sat up in the chair like a lady and waited for him. He eventually approached me with an unlit joint. I stuck it between my lips and held my hand out for the lighter. Instead, he didn't give it to me. He leaned forward and lit the end of the paper for me.

In all honesty, it was really romantic in a pathetic kind of way.

I stared into Garrett's eyes, and I immediately knew that he felt bad.

I didn't, though.

It was easy to see why I liked Garrett so much. It was even easier to see why I'd slept with him before (_cue the gasps!_)—it was totally easy to see the reasons behind all of that. The explanation hit me like a bus right at this given moment.

Garrett was just like Edward, only more artistic. He was the creative, poetic, musical, romantic version of Edward, and with hair that wasn't as spiked up. Sure, he fucked up just as much as Edward did, but at least he did it with color. With a signature. Anyone could do bad things; only Garrett could do them creatively.

Another reason why I loved him was that he didn't cheat. He did bad things, of course—everyone in our little group did—but he never, ever cheated on Kate.

…Well, until he took an interest in me. It could have been either of our faults.

There's something about being bad. Something that strikes everyone at some point. Both Garrett and I knew that doing this was definitely bad (more so for him), but the taste was impeccable. Things that were done out of badness always tasted better, anyway; that was just how things went.

I finally removed the joint to exhale, but before I could, Garrett put his lips to mine and sucked the smoke right out of me. He literally took my breath away.

"Blondes don't always have more fun," was what he whispered next.

So maybe he didn't really care for Kate that much. And for all I knew, Kate could be sleeping with Edward at this given moment. Then again… she wasn't like that. Kate wasn't like me _or_ Edward. It wasn't in her nature to be like us, whereas her nurture—Shady Pointe—was. Nature always beat out nurture in the long run.

Then he pulled away. "You're a good friend," he said.

_Oh._

Another similarity between Garrett and Edward? They lied—to themselves and to me.

I didn't want to be with Garrett like how I was with Edward. That would have been strange. But a _friend_? Damn. We'd been perfect—which was all I wanted—until Garrett had said that. I wasn't the type that he liked. Of course I wasn't. He truly liked blondes with electric personalities. Girls who didn't break hearts for the thrill of the rush. I was bad for him. But for him to call me a friend was low. He wasn't supposed to be the one doing the breaking; that was _my_ job and _my_ job only.

My pale pink lipstick lingered on his lips, and I decided that I needed to get a grip. I wasn't supposed to get pissed over stupid stuff like this. I took another drag and focused on relaxing.

I wished things were easier. I wanted to be eighteen again, when I'd just moved to Shady Pointe and everything was tight-knit and friendly, and back when I hadn't slept with my best friend's boyfriend. I would much prefer to belong to no one again instead of everyone.

"You okay?" Garrett asked, cutting into my thoughts and rolling a joint for himself. He'd dragged another chair to sit down and face me.

I blinked. "I'm fine."

"Is Kate okay?"

_Cute of you to ask about your girlfriend right after you just kissed me. _"Yeah. Didn't you see her come home last night?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I just didn't know if she left this morning or not."

"Well, she didn't," I replied sharply. "She'll be here in a couple of minutes, I bet. She might even fix you breakfast because she's so _perfect_ and _acceptable_. Not like a _friend_."

He looked up at me for a second, bewildered. Then he snorted. "Thanks."

"No problem." Then I stood up and headed to the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I don't know."

* * *

I really hoped that marijuana would be legalized in Washington soon, and preferably during the next presidential election; this "two drags and off to the trash" deal wasn't flying with me. It was a shame how I scared I was to finish the joint in my truck. I wasn't supposed to be scared of anything.

With half a tank of gas, I chugged my old truck and I to the main part of Forks. I really didn't know where I was heading, but I needed to get away, and _fast_. Last night's and this morning's affairs looked nasty and vulnerable now.

I eventually winded up at a grocery store. I'd passed two other ones on the way, but they were too small… too conspicuous. _Will anyone notice me, in all of my intoxicated glory?_ That was the true question.

Friday mornings at big grocery stores were surprisingly empty. With barely any cars in the large parking lot, I parked in the back, anyway. More time to walk meant more air to breathe.

In my sweater, skirt, and heels, I felt somewhat suburban. I felt like a loyal girlfriend, or a wife. Maybe even a mother. I could have passed for one of those soccer moms that smoked weed. The idea had me chuckling to myself as I grabbed a shopping cart.

I felt like a doll, in a way. I looked perfect, and I knew it. I was like a suburban Barbie, shopping for my perfect Ken.

I couldn't shop for much, though; I only had twenty dollars in my purse. _Might as well make the most out of it_, I thought. If I were a real suburban Barbie, I would have had more money than this.

As I slowly rolled through every aisle, picking up and putting the items down in my cart to make it look like I was actually here for a reason, I did discover that there actually were people here. Friday mornings weren't that lonely, after all. At least, not for other people.

I saw a lot of mothers. Young ones, holding the hands of their four-year-olds and promising them cookies if they behaved nicely. Younger ones, not knowing what to do with their crying infants and hoping they can get out of the store without losing their minds.

It was strange to see that that could have been me.

I'd gotten pregnant once. I'd been just eighteen (almost nineteen), not knowing what to do with myself let alone a child of my own. It had happened in the summer—mid-June, to be specific—after I'd graduated. I hadn't discovered I was pregnant until Edward had moved across the country, leaving me alone. I remembered spending my Independence Day not feeling very independent. I'd felt scared. Trapped. Shady Pointe had felt even shadier.

Do you know what's worse than living in a shitty apartment complex with druggy losers for friends, being pregnant, and not being able to tell your boyfriend that you're pregnant?

Telling him over Facebook. That's what.

I remembered the messages we'd exchanged like the memories were burned into my mind. I'd told him that I was pregnant, and it had taken him ten minutes to respond. All he'd said was, "_Just get rid of it_."

I'd gotten rid of it, alright.

Back then, I'd had a job, my old job at the Newtons' Outfitters store. I'd had the money to get an abortion, too. It had happened and I'd felt no regrets afterward.

The wretched aftertaste of it formed in my mouth now, though.

The young mother had already walked away with her baby, but I could still hear the child wailing.

I could have had all of that.

That didn't mean I wanted any of it.

* * *

Out of the twenty dollars I'd brought with me, I saved about thirteen of them, in the end.

I didn't know what else to buy, so I went through the store again, this time much faster. I put all the groceries in my cart back and went to the cash registers at the front of the store. As I waited in line behind an old man, I set three things down on the conveyor belt: original chapstick, a flavor that made me sick; the latest issue of _Seventeen_, a magazine I couldn't keep up with; and a package of mint gum, a taste that didn't appeal to my mouth.

Throughout my life, I always wondered what made a girl a woman. My mother had told me that paying my own bills would make me a woman, but I'd failed at that. Had that de-womanized me? My father had told me that getting married would make me a woman, but I wasn't there yet. I would never get there. Homewreckers weren't supposed to get married; they were supposed to ruin others' marriages. Was a woman, or merely a girl? Was I… I had to wince. Was I an early-two thousands Britney Spears?

I would have laughed out loud, but that would have been strange. That also would have convinced me that I was lying to myself, because in reality, being stuck as a teenager in a young adult's body wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all. It was embarrassing, and it fully showed how much I couldn't get my shit together. I was an idle teen, never moving forward. I guessed growing up fast because of a guy and missing out on normal teenage years could do that to people. It had certainly happened to me.

If I, today, was a bratty, indolent teenager that also happened to be a primadonna, then so be it. It was an easier act to put on than a loyal girlfriend or housewife. I could save that for a different day. Today was not that day.

I put all my items back and replaced them with three new items: cherry chapstick, a flavor I loved; this week's _US Weekly_, a magazine that anybody could keep up with; and a package of pink bubblegum, which I could chew all day.

It was nice to feel young, even for a little bit.

* * *

On the way home, I lingered around and drove slower than I had to. I didn't need to push the truck any further, anyway, though. It would die one of these days if I kept treating it like the sports car I wanted it to be.

With the radio on as background music, I took the long way back to Shady Pointe… Well, okay, that wasn't exactly it. I took a town-wide road trip through Forks.

I passed by my old high school. I couldn't remember many of the teachers or my old friends, but the memories of Edward were so prominent. The memories of him were stained everywhere I went… Every block, every street, and every road.

I even passed by Charlie's house. His car wasn't parked in the driveway, so he couldn't have been home. Driving by, I wondered if I would have visited if he'd been home.

It truly was something to go by my old job. I'd had a crappy part-time at the Newtons' store since I'd been seventeen. After I'd graduated, it had turned into a full-time job. I would have even been promoted to manager if I hadn't started coming in really late toward the end of my job there. I'd been fine for a long time—even after getting into pot—until I was about twenty-and-a-half. That was when I'd started selling. There had been nothing more difficult than selling all night and until the early hours of the morning, and then getting to work at nine the next morning. I'd come in late every single day. I wouldn't have been fired if Mike Newton still worked there. He'd had a huge crush on me since I'd started, but that wouldn't have gotten me anywhere then. I would have still been working at the store if he was around now. When I thought of the guy now, I kind of missed him. Sure, he'd been a little annoying and persistent, but he'd cared about me. I should have gotten to know him better in the short time I'd had. Maybe he would have been better for me than Edward.

The reminiscences and lost chances were starting to ache now. I needed to go home.

I wished Shady Pointe could feel like a home now.

* * *

I went straight to my own apartment once I entered the complex, and of course, Edward was gone. All in "business," it seemed. There was business here, business there… business everywhere. I hoped Garrett had gone with him. I didn't need to see him either.

I didn't need anybody to talk to; I didn't need anybody to console with. What I needed was a change.

I started to clean. It was the least I could do, living with Edward now. Sure, he was a slob that didn't deserve me, and the housewife role was stupid, but I couldn't help it. The dirtiness was calling my name. I needed to organize. I needed to get things together, starting with this place.

I didn't dare touch Edward's items or try to sort them. I didn't need to see anything I wasn't supposed to, and I didn't want to either. What I did instead, was sort through my own items. I found old papers, old addresses… and an old heart?

Deep in the back of one of my novels, I found a name, number, and address of the past. The far past. The past had been good to me—especially this deep part of it. Jacob Black—his name was sweet like cinnamon to me—had been great the last time I knew him. He'd been a good part of the past, and I felt like shit for not talking to him in so much time. I wondered if Jacob would want to see me. I knew I wanted to see him.

So, what was I supposed to do with such a blissful antiquity—an address _and_ a number included—waiting for me, just in La Push?

I would do what any other girl dying for a second chance at a past full of happiness would do: I would do it all over again.

* * *

_**A/N: **And that was the third chapter. I'm having more fun with this story than I thought I would! And it's also not going the way I thought it would either, with the whole Garrett thing. Whoops. That's kind of half the fun, though, right? Changing your mind? Well... maybe._

_Thank you so, so much, you guys. I'll try to update soon._

_MTL. xo_


	4. Chapter Four

_**A/N: **__You guys are the greatest. Thanks again. And guess what? I've reached a few realizations. For one thing, this story seems to be the product of a story I started and actually wrote for a while (titled "Femme Fatale") and another story that I tried to start twice—TWICE!—and failed at both (titled "Beautiful, Dirty, Rich" and later "Primadonna"). I swear, if I fail this story, I'll shoot myself in the foot. A long time ago, someone acknowledged my sticktoitness with "Destructive Desire" (yeah, THAT old thing), and I want to maintain that. I would really, really like to stick with a multi-chapter story that is not hardcore angst and doesn't include the main characters dying. So, uh, bear with me here, guys. I don't even know how long this particular story will be yet._

_I forgot my other realizations, by the way._

_Here's chapter four! Enjoy._

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Garrett bursted through my (well, technically Edward's) front door without even knocking. He must have thought that Edward was here; what would he even want to do with _me_ now?

"Hey, Ed, you in here!?" he called loudly.

I snapped back to the present with a jolt. "Jesus, Garrett!" I yelled. "You scared the shit out of me!"

I heard his footsteps come closer to the room I was in, Edward's bedroom, and he leaned against the door with an impish smile on his face. "You never told me you were going to sit here and read love letters to yourself," he said.

It was then I realized that I was still clutching the paper with Jacob Black's address and number on it, holding it over my chest.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" I asked Garrett.

"Mmm, not really," he replied.

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, here's an idea: you could start with apologizing to Kate."

"Why would I apologize," he began, "for something that you brought yourself into?"

"You're being really fucking bold for blaming me," I said harshly. "I mean, I didn't make you kiss me back in your living room just a while ago. And, uh, it wasn't my idea to have sex with you a month ago."

"It wasn't," he agreed, "at least, not the first time."

I felt knots form in the pit of my stomach as anger boiled over in my throat. I glared at him. He was just a clone of Edward; the artistry and talent that Garrett possessed didn't help anything—at all. He was just as fucked up as Edward and anybody could have seen that.

It was safe to say that I was now not interested in Garrett—_definitely _not interested.

One last game might be okay, though. Just one.

Garrett thought he was funny and smart. He also thought he could mess with me and my emotions. I just had to prove him wrong. I'd raised him up before; it was time to see him fall. It was only fair.

I stood up from my place on the floor, letting the little golden ticket to my past flutter down, and walked to Garrett. Forcefully pressing my body to his against the door, I put my lips to his one last time, and I kissed him. I kissed him _hard_, like I'd never kissed anyone before, which wasn't at all true.

This had happened with other guys, of course; guys in the real world were just the same. Everything was. Everything with other guys was a game of tug of war, all the time. I would give and they would take; I would take and they would give.

"You're no different," I whispered against Garrett's lips. He didn't care, though. I had never once met a man that cared about me, even when I would gain little microscopic feelings for him.

Earlier than I thought, he pulled away from me. Left me cold. Then he backed out of the room, staring at me like I was crazy.

"You're like an infection," was the last thing he told me.

At least I hadn't infected Kate. I knew that she was right where Garrett was headed. He was quick at moving on. I would know; I knew the feeling.

And I was glad.

* * *

Nearly everything of mine was still in boxes, so it wasn't that hard to pack up my items. I was ready to start fresh and make a change. It was only in my nature to do that. It was easy to see that I was only happy when I was on the run, and that was only temporary. Maybe I wouldn't have to run anymore this time.

I sure was doing a lot of hoping for somebody like me, but that was okay. It was better than being hopeless and having everything in the world and all the reasons in the world not to be. That was the last thing I would do: have plenty of opportunities and be hopeless at the same time. I never understood people like that… people like Edward. He'd grown up rich and happy, but miserable at the same time. His life could have been so great now if he had made different choices. My life could have been so great if I hadn't been dragged to hell with him.

As far as I knew, the future wouldn't look good for me any way I looked at it. The past—or the people of it—was where I belonged. It was time to do the right thing.

It was time to take advantage of the kindness of almost-strangers.

* * *

By three o'clock that afternoon, I was just about ready to leave. I could admit to taking a bit of Edward's money that I knew he had lying around, but overall, I felt independent. I felt good. I had everything in the bed of the truck (even with a tarp strapped over it!) and was nearly dancing my way out the front door… until I bumped into Edward.

Dressed in blue jeans and white shirt with a cigarette hanging from his lips, looking like James Dean himself, Edward stood at the middle of the stairs as I was about to make my way down. "Where are you going?" he asked.

I pursed my lips and shrugged. "Where were _you_?"

He removed the cigarette from his mouth and took a drag, blowing a ring in my direction. "That's not the point, Bella."

"It's not like you care," I replied.

"C'mon, babe… Please? Just tell me?"

"I… Well…" I walked down a few more steps to face him. Pressing my hands to his cheeks, I knew he was hurting a little bit. Edward was an idiot and a total whore, but he still had feelings—lots of them.

I smiled at him in an apologetic way and slightly tilted my head to the side. "I'm leaving you," I whispered.

"But… but… _Why_?"

I rubbed my thumb along his jaw and got a little teary-eyed as his green eyes were already filled with tears. He needed me, but I didn't need him. I hoped he would realize that sometime soon.

"This is for me," I told him. "And… and this isn't right."

"What isn't right?"

"Everything. We're supposed to be a couple, right? All we do is sleep with other people."

"I thought you liked being in an open relationship, though, Bella."

"Edward, I don't. Not anymore, I mean."

"We've broken up a thousand times," he reminded me, "and we always get back together. You'll be back in a week, I just know it."

I shook my head. "Baby, I've already packed my bags."

"Do you not want me to sleep around anymore? Because I can stop." His eyes were eager and willing.

"Right," I said sarcastically. "Like I could ever get you to stop having sex with other girls. Edward, that may be you, but that's not me. I'm done with this. I'm starting over. I'm leaving you."

He dropped his cigarette and stamped on it with his shoe. Then he looked up at me with puppy-dog eyes. "Please," he whispered, "don't go."

"I can't leave if I've never really been here," I told him. "This is me just moving on."

With that, he moved over so I could make my way down the rest of the stairs and to my truck.

"I love you," he called to me.

"That's a first."

* * *

I knew how to read a map, and getting to La Push wasn't that hard. A sense of nostalgia hit me right in the face as I saw the familiar mailbox. I'd been here on a couple of times, but I still remembered a little bit. I'd always meant to visit more times…

I approached the front door, and knocked three times. Before I knew it, an older man in a wheelchair answered the door.

For a second I almost forgot the guy's name. "Hey, um… uh… Billy?"

He narrowed his eyes at me like I was a stranger, and in a way, I was. I hadn't visited La Push since I'd been nineteen, and those visits had occurred only a few times.

"Bella?" he asked. "Does your dad know you're in town?"

I shook my head quickly. "No, he doesn't. Where's Jacob? Is he home?"

"Um, no."

"Then where is he?"

He looked at me like I was stupid. "He moved to Everett a long time ago, Bella."

"What the hell is an Everett?"

* * *

I was given another address. I was even given some gas and ferry money. In the end, I was really just given an assload of trouble.

Why would Jacob make such a long commute to the other side of the entire fucking Puget Sound? I would never know. From my experience, there was nothing—absolutely _nothing_—nice about taking a ferry and driving for hours.

When I was a little girl (circa. princess days), I'd used to dream of Washington state. It was pathetic, of course, since Washington was nothing special, but still. I'd gotten hopeful thinking of Seattle since I'd known where I'd come from. I'd thought of Seattle as the big city. I'd thought of Everett as a kingdom for a princess like me. But back then, I'd only seen Everett in pictures, and those pictures were of North Everett. However, Jacob Black now lived in South Everett, and there was nothing at all cute about South Everett. Casino Road wasn't much cuter.

I knew the truth now, though. Everett wasn't as big or as populated as Seattle, but it wasn't small either. Everett was like the place where just about anyone could find some relevance, but not enough. In South Everett, everybody was a nobody. I saw countless bums on Casino Road as I approached Jacob's apartment.

It wasn't like I was new to seeing losers all the time; it was that I hadn't known there were _so many_ of them in the real world. I'd been trapped in my pretty, little loser haven; I hadn't known how fucked up the real world truly was.

What was even more fucked up was that there weren't any Christmas lights. They would have been seasonally inappropriate anywhere but Shady Pointe—especially here—but not seeing them was like seeing… lost dreams. Lost hope.

South Everett truly was something.

I could feel the stares of other people down the street boring into me as I drove to Jacob's apartment complex. It was obvious that I was an outsider, lugging around in my old rusty truck. They'd be even more surprised to see me when I would get out of my truck, dressed in my sweater, skirt, and heels. I wondered if they'd think I was a prostitute.

I finally got to Jacob's apartment complex—Candlewood was the name—and found the penthouse apartment, since that was apparently where he lived. Making my way up the stairs, I still felt a huge sense of culture shock. I was so out of my comfort zone… so out of my element. I'd mindlessly drove all day long to South Everett to meet Jacob, and he didn't even know I was here. An almost terrifying thought traced through my mind.

_What if he doesn't like me?_

Then I reminded myself that everybody liked me. There was no need to worry.

I gave three tentative knocks to the door. No answer. Then I knocked rapidly, seven times. Still no answer. I wasn't going to move, though; I was going to wait. And I did.

After about forty-five seconds, the door finally swung, and a man stared down at me.

The man was tall, russet-skinned, muscular, dark-haired, and overall beautiful. He was obviously Jacob, though he looked way older, even as we were the same age (I was only older than him by a couple of months, I was pretty sure).

The intricate features of Jacob's face plastered into my mind; I didn't want to stop looking at him, and I couldn't. There was something… of. It was his expression. He didn't look happy or carefree, like the last time I'd seen him. He looked nervous and kind of scared. And angry, too.

I couldn't find any sensible words to say. "Jacob?" I managed to squeak out.

"Bella?"

* * *

_**A/N: **Okay, guys. I know I'm being a tease. I was going to include more but I had to cut it before I wrote the next chapter. That was chapter four. Chapter five will be posted soon! Thanks for sticking with me. Oh, and yes - I am familiar with the Everett-Mukilteo area. So, what'd you guys think?_

_Thanks,_

_MTL._

_P.S. - I know that the story cover is ridiculous, but you'll discover the meaning of it later._


	5. Chapter Five

_**A/N: **Hello! It's been a while, I know. I've been sort of busy (and shamelessly Tumblring, if I do say so myself). However, I have updated! I'm excited but also very nervous to share this with you. This chapter has a lot of dialogue; I hope it's not terrible. I've also realized that this story has to run on its writing and character development. It's not like Destructive Desire where there's a plot change every other chapter; this needs to be more intricate and intimate and very, very focused on the characters. That's all I want to do. And speaking of Destructive Desire, I realized that I'm kinda digging that Bella out of her grave and putting her here. For those who read Destructive Desire (Cassy and Josh *cough*), you may find this kind of rad or kind of cool... or both! Ha. Also, like the Destructive Desire Bella, this one has quite a back story. Jesus. I'm bringing back the Blur Bella now. I'm insane. This story is like Destructive Desire (or the lost Femme Fatale) for the Jella fan's soul. I don't know why I compare my works so much; maybe I'm allowed to, since there is so damn much of it. Alright, I'm rambling. This isn't good. You still there? Yes? Here's the latest chapter. Enjoy._

* * *

**Chapter Five**

For someone who missed out on a normal time as a teenager, I really had changed over the years. It was crazy.

A while ago, I wouldn't have been so bold. I wouldn't have been so trusting in strangers, or anyone, really. I couldn't remember which point it was that made me think, _you're okay, nobody's out to get you, you don't have to live your life in fear_, but it had happened. If it hadn't, I wouldn't be here in Everett with Jacob Black now.

So I was a little insane for randomly visiting him (and with all my belongings). So I was a little insane for expecting him to take me in. I had a few streaks of insanity in my blood. I could deal with that. He was just as crazy, though. He had to be. And you know why?

Jacob actually took me in.

"You're a gift from the gods," I told him as I carefully sat down on his neat sofa. We still hadn't gotten all of my stuff out of truck. We hadn't gotten any of it, actually. "Thank you, Jake," I added gratefully. "Thank you so much."

"If I were to let you stay out there all night," he replied, shutting the door, "then that'd basically be putting you out for prostitution." He took sat down on the love seat on the other side of the room.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"Casino Road isn't too nice at night."

"Oh."

We were silent for a while, but Jacob eventually sighed and put his face into his big hands. "God," he moaned.

"Whoa, what's wrong?" I asked, freaking out a little. The poor guy was nearly breaking down right in front of me and I just got here!

He looked up with a sarcastic look on his face. "_Everything_," he replied. "I mean, I barely know you. I haven't seen you since I was… what, seventeen? This doesn't even make sense, Bella. I hope you can find a new place to stay soon, because this isn't it. This is crazy, right? Taking in strangers… I'm too busy for this, anyway, though. I'm not a shelter either. You'll have to find a new way sometime soon, and—"

"Eighteen," I cut in. "We haven't seen each other since we were eighteen, not seventeen. And you do know me. I mean, not a lot, but can't we make this work?"

This was _enough. _I already knew that I was as unwavering as the ocean; I didn't need him reminding me. It was funny how all my life I'd known exactly what I wanted and who I wanted to be, but at the hands of something (or someone) so, _so _precious, I was indecisive. I'd totally flipped; I couldn't handle the truth now. I felt pathetic.

He just stared at me, his dark brown eyes smoldering at me like I didn't know what I was talking about… like I—no, _we_—was hopeless.

And in a way, that was kind of all true.

"Is this a movie to you or something?" he asked. "I'm a busy person, Bella, and I think…" He hesitated and trailed off, biting his bottom lip.

"What is it that you think?" I demanded. "What is it? I mean, since we're strangers, after all, you don't have to be nice to me. C'mon, be rude. Be a jerk again."

He shrugged. "I think you're using me, Bella, and I don't like it. If you've wanted to connect with me for so long, then you would have started a long time ago."

Anyone who hasn't had their biggest fears face them wouldn't get it; they wouldn't understand how terrifying that is. And my worst fear was happening right here, right now.

_Jacob Black didn't like me._

I'd never been disliked. I'd never been disrespectful, because nobody had ever been disrespectful towards me. And if someone disliked me, then I could always turn that around. I always did. I couldn't _not_ try to please everyone; it wasn't in my nature, and I just wasn't built for that.

But there was no use in trying to turn Jacob around. He didn't only dislike me; he fucking _hated_ me, and not even I could change that.

I could still try, though.

I bit my lip and gazed at the empty, blank wall behind him. How could he live such a boring life? Such a life without even a tiny piece of art? "Well, I'm sorry," I said, "but I'm kind of stuck like this."

"That's not my problem," he replied.

_Ouch. _The truth was painful.

"Just give me one night," I pleaded. "Please. I can't stay out there. You said it yourself, Jake—it'd be putting me out for prostitution. Just give me one night, and I'll be out of here by tomorrow morning."

"Just one night?" he asked for clarification.

I nodded. "Just one."

* * *

Jacob helped me take all of my things back to his apartment before night fell, and he led me down a small hallway. "You can put your stuff in here," he told me, opening the door to the room, "but there's no bed in here, so the couch is all yours tonight."

We set my items down and stood there in silence for a moment. I could have heard a pin drop in that small bedroom; it was so quiet. Had things always been this awkward between us?

"Thanks again," I said. I blinked. "I think I'll, um, get ready for bed. Can I use your shower?"

"Go ahead," he said. "I'll get you a couple of blankets."

I glanced at the digital clock on the small desk in the room we were standing it. That was pretty much all that was there. It was only fifteen after six. "It's not even late," I observed.

"Never said you had to go to bed."

I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath. "Okay."

He left the room, and I was about to break down until he stepped right back in. "Hey, Bella?"

"Yes?" I asked.

He ran a hand through his short, dark hair and smirked a little to himself. It was the closest thing to a smile I'd seen in _years_. "The bathroom's right across the hall," he told me.

I smiled at him. "Thanks."

"No problem."

I grabbed a random ensemble of shorts and a camisole from one of my bags and made my way to the bathroom. When I flicked the light switch on, I realized that I truly did look in the mirror all the time.

I knew I did because I had never, ever looked this bad.

I'd been right; people probably did think I was a prostitute. An extra worn-out one, at that. I looked and felt exhausted. My makeup looked dull, my hair had gone limp, and my clothes were wrinkled. Also, when I thought about it now, my feet really, _really _hurt. I quickly stepped out of my heels, and relief washed over me.

After staring at myself for a few more seconds (I just couldn't stop, it was almost compulsive), I eventually went to the bathtub and pulled the shower curtain, right before turning the knob to make the water run. As I waited for the water to turn steaming hot, I undressed, tied my hair up, and took note of the body-washing material.

This was definitely a twenty-year-old guy's bathroom—everything was basic, even when it came to the soap and the scrubbing materials. I hoped I wouldn't smell like a guy.

Surprisingly, the shower was immensely comfortable. I finally got to loosen up the knots in my back. Breaking up with two guys and driving to another one all in one day had been a tiring job.

At least the shower was comfortable, at first. Before I knew it, the hot water was gone. It couldn't have been me using it for so long; it had to be the water itself. I was only in the shower for about ten minutes!

"Fuck this shit," I muttered as I quickly turned off the ice-cold water, stepped out of the tub, and reached for one of the towels across from the toilet. As I wrapped it around me, I knew it couldn't have been fresh; it smelled strange and familiar at the same time, like peppermint and boy and… _home._

Could I try to make this my home? Well, I certainly couldn't if I didn't try to get along with Jacob.

* * *

I quickly changed into my pajamas (even though night hadn't fallen yet), and retreated back to the living room, where Jacob was sitting on the couch, chomping down on a burger. He was halfway done.

"I left for a little while to get dinner," he explained in the middle of chewing. "Sorry, I wasn't really prepared to cook tonight."

"It's okay," I said, taking a seat next to him. "I didn't know you cook."

"Yeah, I do," he replied easily. "I'm not too good at it, though."

"Microwaves can do wonders," I agreed.

He nodded. "Your burger's getting cold."

"Right."

I took the box that was set on the little coffee table, and opened it to see a big, greasy cheeseburger. It smelled of pickles and beef and cheese and heaven… and fat. I was starving, but I knew that eating this would make me feel wrong. Whole and happy, but wrong. I could eat just about everything, since I was going to puke it all, anyway, but that had never made me happy. It still didn't. It had never made me skinnier, either; it had made me cry. It still did. Not eating the burger would have been bad, but eating it would have been worse.

Jacob must have noticed my dilemma. "Oh," he said, staring down at my untouched burger. "Next time I'll get you a salad or something."

"No, it's fine," I replied.

"You watching your figure or something?"

I shook my head. "No way. I hate exercise."

"So you're either a puker or a starver," he assumed.

_Who the fuck is this guy to tell me this?_

I probably looked ridiculous in my facial response, with my eyes wild and my nostrils flared. "You must get a lot of dates this way," I said sarcastically. "Assuming eating disorders with every girl you meet."

"No, no, no," he said. "I'm sorry, Bella."

"You've been saying that a lot," I pointed out. "Are you really sorry?"

"I am five hundred percent sorry," he replied quickly. "I just… well, I've got two big sisters. They had their phases of eating disorders or whatever. I just had to ask."

"I don't have any disorders," I said decisively. "And it's really rude to assume shit like that. I mean, what if I _was_ sick? That'd be a really insensitive thing to say."

"How is the truth insensitive?"

_Well, shit. _"Because…" I began. "Because… Jake, it's because no one likes hearing it. Nobody likes to hear the truth."

"Okay, you win. I was rude."

"Yeah, you were."

"But are you gonna eat that burger? I can't have you passing out on the first night."

I raised my eyebrows. "So you're saying there's gonna be more than one night?" I asked enthusiastically.

"I guess you've got me there," he admitted. "You can stay until Monday, alright?"

I would have just tonight, Saturday night, and Sunday night… Such a short amount of time.

I nodded. "Alright. And okay, I'll finish the burger."

He grinned at me, and nostalgia ran me right over like a bus. He hadn't grinned at me like that in years. The reminiscence almost made me want to cry. It was less complicated to smile, though. So that's what I did. I smiled and took a big, hearty bite of the big, fatty cheeseburger.

"I'm not a puker _or_ a starver," I claimed.

* * *

"Shouldn't we catch up or something?" I later asked. It was nighttime, and I lounged on the couch in which I would sleep on. "It's been a long time," I pointed out.

Jacob, who continued to sit on the couch with me, shrugged. "Sure, sure."

"Are you being sarcastic?" I asked warily.

"No, really, we should catch up. You go first."

"No, you," I disagreed.

"Alright." He sighed. "Well, since the last time I saw you, I've moved here to Everett."

"Wait, when was the last time we saw each other?" I interrupted.

"The fourth of July," he replied. "Only it was years ago. You were just about to turn nineteen, I think. We were both eighteen, though. And we were at First Beach, with a bunch of my friends and their parents." His eyes were far away, as if he knew the day like the back of his hand. "You were fighting with your dad," he continued, "because he was mad that you brought this guy… I don't remember his name, but he was an asshole. Anyway, you got mad at Charlie and—"

"How the hell do you remember all of this?" I interrupted again.

"Bella," he said, "you got _wasted_ that night. I can't ever forget it. You were so mad at your dad that you drank a storm and got high. Don't you remember? Okay, that was a dumb question—of course you didn't. And that's what happened."

"Oh."

"Yeah." His thumbs fiddled around, and he looked down at them, as if he was finding words to say. "Um… Well, since then, I graduated from high school and took a couple of college classes. And, uh, I moved here, to Everett. Nothing particularly special about my journey."

"Why did you move _here_, of all places?" I asked. "It doesn't feel safe here."

"I just needed a change," he clarified. "I needed a breath of fresh air. I was rotting in La Push. You wanna know something, Bella? Everyone in La Push lives a long, boring life there. Nobody does anything with themselves. They just… live and die and experience the same shit."

I bit my lip and nodded. "That's not such a bad thing, though," I said. "It's better than being lost at a place where you don't belong and experiencing terrible things and not knowing what will happen next. It's much better than being at a place in your life where you feel like you let your family down, you know?"

He shook his head. "You may regret your decisions, but I don't."

"Right."

"Well, what have you been up to?" he asked, shifting the conversation, but not really.

"Since the last time we talked, I guess I've been living the same way. I live—I mean, I _lived_—with my boyfriend. Or my ex, I mean. His name's Edward… Okay, so I never really lived with him, but in the same apartment complex."

"What's the point in that?" Jacob pried. "Why didn't you just live with him?"

"It's just independence," I replied. "I wanted it, and I had it. Anyway, yeah, we sort of lived together, and I had a job. I got fired, though. And then I got evicted from my apartment just yesterday. Imagine that: getting kicked out of your home on your birthday."

"Damn, sorry I forgot your birthday," he told me.

"It's okay," I assured him. "I forgot yours."

"So you're… what, twenty-one now?"

I nodded. "Yup."

"A lot of time has passed," he said.

"Uh-huh," I agreed, snuggling up a little more in the blanket, sinking a little more into the couch. "You're really different now."

His eyes widened. "Oh?"

"Yeah. You're _way_ different."

"And how?"

I shrugged. "You're less… happy. You smile a lot less, and you look stressed out."

"I just took in a stranger," he reminded me. "I'm allowed to be a little stressed."

"I mean, besides that," I said. "The second you saw me at the door a couple of hours ago, you looked like a nervous wreck, like you were _expecting _this. And we are not strangers. Not anymore."

"Well, I'm not that different," he told me.

"Yes, you are," I disagreed. "Jake, you've changed. I can see it now; you _used_ to be happy. Remember when we were, like, seventeen, and fixing up your car?"

"We were eighteen," he corrected.

"Same difference. But remember that? That was so fun. You don't seem fun anymore."

"Bella, you haven't even given me a chance—you just got here. And you're really one to talk about people changing. You're more different than I am."

"And how?" I challenged.

"You didn't wear skirts, for one thing. You didn't care about how you look as much as you do now. You didn't do drugs back then. And _I'm_ not happy anymore? Bella, _you're_ not happy anymore. And now you've got that whole eating disorder thing—"

_This again. _"No, I don't."

"Bella, you're already pretty," he told me bluntly. "You don't need to do stuff like that to your body. And quite frankly, it's kinda scary to me."

_Maybe he doesn't hate me_, I thought. _He just called me pretty. _"I could do stuff like that to _stay_ pretty," I said. "But I guess you're kinda outta luck, then, because you're stuck with me, differences and all."

"Are you saying we've signed some unwritten contract?" he asked.

"Are _you_?" I threw back.

"Jesus, Bella. It was _way_ easier to be friends with you back then."

I rolled my eyes. "I get it."

He sighed. "I hope so. We never argued this much, let alone in one day. You're practically a fighter now."

"I'm not a fighter," I denied. "I'm just tired of everyone's shit."

His eyebrows jumped. "Okay."

_Holy shit, I really am a fighter. _"I'm going to bed," I decided.

"It's not that late."

"I'm too much of a fighter, remember?" I asked. "Fighters need their rest. And I'm exhausted. Ruling the world can do that to you."

He got up from the couch and made his way to the hallway. "Alright. 'Night, princess."

"I prefer the term 'primadonna,'" I said.

"Whatever," he called without turning back. "You know where the light switch is."

This was a start. At least he'd called me pretty.

* * *

_**A/N: **Narcissistic Bella is narcissistic... lol. Ever noticed how in everything I write about her, her personality is jacked up? This may reflect off my personal views of her or myself or I don't even know what... Welp. Whatever will be, will be. Now, what'd you think? Reviewing helps my soul._

_Take care (and get BD-2 on DVD, AFJLKSFJSADF WOO),_

_MTL._


	6. Chapter Six

_**A/N: **YOU GUUUUUUYYYYYSSSS. First things first, I am totally sorry. It has been almost a month - a whole damn month! - since I've updated this story. I feel like an asshole. I used to not have any ideas for this story, but now that I have a steady plot, chapter by chapter, I'm not going to wait that long to update this story again. And I'm very guilty; I've written three one-shots since updating this. Though I am proud of Youth Knows No Pain, Part III and Half a World Away (and of course, the really strange The Last Catastrophe), I missed this. I really want to finish this story and soon, because I've got plans. My fiftieth fanfic is going to be really big for me. Like, huge. I've still got ways to go, though. So, anyway, this is the sixth chapter of Kinda Outta Luck. Things between Jake and Bells are still a little awkward, but they won't always be like this. I swear. We last left off with Jake saying Bella could stay for the weekend. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

I woke up the next morning to the smells and sounds of sizzling bacon and… music? I could have sworn I was in heaven, but in actuality, I was in Everett. In Jacob Black's apartment. It was really annoying me how I still couldn't believe it, but I really couldn't. I had the worst luck—how had _this_ even happened to _me_?

I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and yawned. The music felt louder now—Jake had probably turned it up. Stretching, I turned behind me, to the direction of the kitchen. There I saw Jacob behind the counter, working and working. I heard various other sounds along with the music, like cracking and frying and… whistling?

After lazily getting off the couch, I walked to the kitchen, where Jacob was still cooking, whistling to himself. He looked at me. "Good morning," he greeted me.

I smiled warmly and took in his outfit of a black apron that said _Mr. Good-Lookin' is Cookin'_ (with a white t-shirt underneath) and gray sweatpants. "It smells delicious," I remarked, looking back at what he was preparing. From what it looked like, there was a lot of food. Bacon, eggs, toast, diced potatoes… My stomach groaned and my mouth watered. The only thing worse than eating it would be to get rid of it, though.

Jacob got out a stack of plates from the cupboard and set them down next to me. "Thanks," he replied.

I leaned against the counter. "And you said you're not good at cooking," I remembered with a smirk.

He shrugged. "So it was a little white lie."

I played along. "Wouldn't want to showcase all your skills at once."

"'Course not."

Looking down at the four plates next to me, I cocked my head to the side. "We're having guests?"

Jacob looked up at me with a slight look of surprise upon his face. It was kind of cute, though, and the light hit his brown eyes so perfectly. "Yeah," he replied. "We are. My friend Quil and his girlfriend Claire are coming over."

"Where are they from?" I asked.

"Down the corridor outside."

"How old are they?"

His eyes darted from the food he was finishing preparing to me, back and forth. "They're twenty, like me…" he began uneasily. "Well, Claire's turning twenty in November, but still. They like to hang out here a lot, and I let them. I mean, it's the least I could do. Quil got me a job—I mean, one of them. And their apartment's a dump, anyway, but don't tell them I said that."

"Okay," I said. "Do I need to get dressed or…?"

"Only if you want to. The rest of us will still be in our pajamas. It's no big deal. They come for breakfast, like, every weekend, anyway."

"I guess I wouldn't want to stick out," I said timidly.

"Guess not."

There was a sudden knock on the door, and Jake took off his apron and set it down on an arm of the couch. "Just in time," he said.

I straightened up, sucked my stomach in, and held my breath. It wasn't hard for me to come off collected; I just never impressed myself.

Jacob answered the door, and a young couple in pajamas walked in. The man had short, dark, curly hair and an impish grin. He was almost as tall as Jacob—who had to be at least six foot four—as they greeted each other in the traditional "bro hug." The woman looked about my age, only I knew she was younger. She was my height, and she had a pretty smile and long, wavy, dark brown hair. Quil and Claire were both Native American, like Jacob.

"Quil, Claire," Jacob began, gesturing to me. "This is Bella."

"I'm Quil Ateara," Quil introduced himself.

"Hi," Claire said politely. "I'm Claire, but you probably already knew that."

I could tell Quil was fairly playful when he punched Jacob in the arm and laughed. "You never said anything about a girlfriend," he teased. "Finally getting some, Jake?"

Claire giggled, and Jake looked uncomfortable. "She's a girl _and_ a friend," he stated. "And besides, that's no way to be treating someone who just cooked a nice, hot meal for you."

"Yeah, yeah," Quil said, walking to the kitchen. "I don't remember that distinction. Can we eat yet?"

Jake rolled his eyes and gave me a look; I laughed. "Distinctions aren't needed," I commented, also going to the kitchen.

As Quil put together his plate of food, I did the same for mine, and I discovered that Quil was definitely not as nervous or timid as Jacob.

"So, what brings you here?" he asked me.

"What do you mean?"

He looked down at me and lowered his voice. "Is Jake paying you to be here with him?"

I shook my head and scoffed. "No. Why would he do that?"

"I don't know. He's just not the girlfriend-having type."

"Hey," Jake called from the living room, only a few yards away. "Don't be spilling my dirt all at once."

"'Course not, Jake," Quil replied.

"Well, he's not paying me anything," I said, setting strips of bacon onto my plate. "And I'm from Forks. You probably don't know me."

"Wait a second, you actually look familiar. You sure you're from Forks?"

"I'm pretty sure I know where I'm from," I said sharply. "Even if it's not exactly Forks."

"Easy, easy. You just look familiar, is all. You ever been to Everett?"

"Not really," I replied.

"So you're from Forks," he decided.

"I don't like to think about it that way," I replied. "I didn't live in the main part of Forks."

"But you're from Forks."

"You make it sound like I should be proud to be from Forks or something."

"There's nothing proud about being from Everett or anywhere else."

I shrugged. "Touché."

"I'm from La Push," he said. "I've lived there all my life."

"So what brought you here?" I asked, shifting the conversation.

Claire went into the kitchen and started getting her food, too. "I'm pretty sure he was just jealous of Jake's independence," she replied to me. "They moved here at around the same time."

"And this conversation is about you," Quil said. "I'm just saying you look familiar."

Giving up, I decided to give in. "I'm from Forks," I said. "My dad's the chief of police. I used to visit La Push a lot. Is that where you know me from?"

"Isn't your boyfriend that Cullen guy?"

I narrowed my eyes. "How do you know Edward?"

"How do I _not_ know him? Everyone too scared to sell weed around here buys it from Shady Pointe. He's got guys all over the place, importing and exporting. I've met him a couple of times. I think I've met you, too."

"I don't remember, then," I said. "I don't really get to meet any of his clients." I felt weird saying that; it wasn't like Edward had a real job.

"So he sells with other girls?" Quil asked, as if it was the most surprising thing he'd ever heard.

"Probably more than that, too," I replied.

"Could you guys hurry up?" Jake asked. "The kitchen's not big enough for four people to fit and I'm hungry."

I stepped out of the kitchen with my plate of food and made my way to the couch. I was having a whiplash or something; did I really just tell Quil—a man I'd only known for about three minutes—all of that? This wasn't me; I wasn't supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be secure. Polite and poised. Calm, collected, and very closed.

Soon enough, Jacob, Claire, and Quil were all sat down on the couch and loveseat, too. It was then that I decided to keep my lips tight. I listened to all their conversations that had nothing to do with me. I did all the occasional nods and smiles.

"You okay, beauty queen?" Quil asked me at one point.

I took a sip of the glass of orange juice I carefully held in my hand and then nodded. "I'm fine."

"Leave her alone, Quil," Jacob said.

"Hey, I'm not trying to mess with her," Quil said in his defense. "I was just wondering."

"About what?" I asked.

"About why you're being so cold. Are you a robot?"

I knew I acted like one, for sure. "Maybe I am."

"You just think she is because she doesn't eat like a pig like you do," Claire said. She looked at me. "He messes with everyone. Try not to feel weird about it."

I raised my eyebrows. "Okay."

Jacob looked at the direction of the kitchen, probably at the clock on the oven. "Crap, it's already ten-fifteen," he said. "My shift starts at ten forty-five."

"Will you bring back pancakes?" Quil asked.

Jake snorted. "Nice one. Just because I work at IHOP doesn't mean I get to smuggle breakfast foods for you. And besides, I just cooked." He stood up with an empty plate in his hand and started make his way to the kitchen. I followed him.

"You didn't tell me you're going to work," I said in a low, whiny voice. I just needed him to stay.

"I didn't?" he asked. "Well, I am. I'm working at IHOP today."

"_Today_?" I repeated.

"I have three jobs," he explained. "You'll be fine on your own, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I think so. You can count on me to misbehave."

"No, seriously." His face was serious; it made me want to laugh.

I smiled; it was so cute how I had him around my finger already. "I'm kidding, Jake. I'll be fine."

"Good."

We left the kitchen, and Quil and Claire were just getting up. "I think we're gonna head out, Jake," Claire said. "I have work later, too."

"Alright," Jake replied. He took their dishes to the kitchen wordlessly. Quil and Claire started making their way to the door, and they said goodbye. "See you later, Bella," Quil called to me. They ultimately left, and Jacob and I were alone.

"Quil is too fucking much," I said.

Jake laughed a little and nodded. "Yeah. I'm stuck with him, though."

"How long have you two known each other?"

"I don't know… probably since birth. We moved up here around the same time, too."

"Claire told me," I replied. "Was it mutual?"

"Kinda. I still think he's sorta jealous of my independence, though."

I smiled. "I know I'd be. What time do you have to work again?"

"Ten forty-five. I should probably start getting ready now…" He started to make his way down the hallway, but I called his name. He stopped and turned around. "Yeah?"

"Why does Quil think you're paying me to be here?" I asked.

Jacob rolled his eyes. "He thinks I can't catch a date."

"That's a rude thing to say."

"It is," he agreed.

"Why don't you prove him wrong?" I suggested. "I know you could get a girlfriend if you really tri—"

"I don't know if you're used to this or not," he interrupted coldly, "but I'm not used to dating a lot of people. That's just not me."

"Oh."

I had not even the slightest idea of how things would be between us, and the funny thing was that I really didn't want to know.

As he walked away from me, I wanted to ask him something. Something important. It wasn't like he would consider it, though.

_Why don't we just pretend?_

* * *

Upon Jacob leaving for work, I had the apartment to myself, and I managed to do everything I wanted to do. I hung all my clothes and lined up all my shoes in the closet of the empty bedroom, even though I wouldn't be staying here longer than the weekend, but still. I also managed to clean the living room. I couldn't touch the kitchen, though; that was an unknown challenge. I was probably the worst woman ever. I didn't know how to clean. I could see my mother now, telling me, "History hasn't set you free yet, so you have to know how to clean. How else would anybody want you?" She'd always been a strange woman; she loved feminism, but also didn't fight the rules that history had printed out for us.

I didn't know what time Jacob would be coming home, but I knew I still had a lot of time for myself, so I found his laptop and shamelessly logged onto Facebook. He wasn't even logged in already, though I doubted he had a Facebook in the first place. He was like a working woman, always cooking and cleaning and taking care of others and going to his job. Or _jobs_, I should say. I didn't even know how to keep _one_ job; how could he keep _three_?

I didn't have any notifications (since, ya know, everyone from high school forgets the hopeless druggie who fucked her boyfriend under the bleachers once they graduate), but tons of messages. All from Edward. He wanted me back.

Okay, no, that was an understatement. He didn't just want me back; he _needed_ me back, like he needed air. Like he needed weed.

It was interesting how I had never been the starring role in his life until the moment he needed me the most: until I was gone. He had never paid attention to me or was ever serious about us. Now that I didn't take us seriously anymore, he wanted me back, and he wanted me _badly._ It was so pathetic.

There were only a hundred messages of him saying he loved me and missed me and wanted me back. He hadn't been saying that back when he'd been screwing other girls right in the apartment. He'd made me beg for a place to stay in the first place—I'd gone to my knees just to ask to stay in his hole of an apartment. I had plenty of things to be angry about, and the messages weren't making things any better.

As I scrolled through the plentiful messages of threats, full of errors and exclamation points and everything, I started to compose a response of my own. Why did he have to threaten me through _Facebook_, of all things? And besides, he didn't even have a computer! This was so uncalled for, and I was sick of it.

This wasn't the way to deal with things, though.

I held down the backspace key until all the characters were gone and started typing again. Just five words and seven syllables were left as a reply, with perfect grammar, perfect spelling, and nothing less.

_Parting is such sweet sorrow._

* * *

Aimlessly roaming through the apartment, I found tons of things. Plenty of planners, especially. I couldn't bring myself to feel guilty for snooping, so I just did it.

I discovered that Jacob had three jobs, and must have taken pride and ownership to them like his most prized possessions. There were a bunch of little checks marking when he did his shifts. I supposed it was nice that he liked to be organized, but he didn't have to be so OCD about it.

From what the planners said, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he was a security guard at a high school. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he was a mechanic at a garage. On Saturdays, he was a waiter and server at a restaurant, which I presumed to be IHOP. Apparently, Sundays were his days off, but he spent hours of them at the gym, so I guessed I would be alone again tomorrow.

Why was Jacob so busy, though? He was young—just twenty years old. Did he really have to be so preoccupied with absolutely everything?

I shook it off after a while and retreated to the living room to waste away in front of the television. Jacob had cable… Cool. I hadn't had cable since I'd been seventeen.

I ended up falling asleep on the couch in front of bickering housewives on VH1, and when I woke up, the front door was rattling. It scared me until I realized that it was just Jacob. He entered the apartment and called, "Hey, I'm back."

"How was work?" I asked, sitting up on the couch. He walked over to the living room and sat down next to me on the couch, to my right. His eyes flickered to the other side of the room, and he asked me if I could hand him his planner. "Which one?" I asked with a raised brow.

"The one right next to you."

I picked up the planner to my left and handed it to him. "I don't know why you have so many," I said.

He smirked as he put a little checkmark on today's date, September fifteenth, next to a box marked, _IHOP shift 10:45_. "Only if I lose one," he replied. "What'd you do when I was gone?"

"Nothing, really," I replied. "I just got organized a little. How was work?"

He leaned back, sank into the couch, and sighed. "It was okay. I fucking hate kids, man."

"Why would you work at a high school if you hate kids?"

"So you were looking at my planner," he accused.

I kept my cool. "I didn't know your jobs were anything to hide."

"Well, I don't hate high school kids," he finally said. "I mean, they're almost my age. They kinda look up to me. I just hate little kids. The screaming ones."

I groaned. "I don't deal with diapers," I said in agreement.

"You worked with kids, too?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, but I can imagine what it's like. Aren't high school kids obnoxious, though?" I wondered. "Don't they try to bring you down just because you're only a few years older than them?"

"Sometimes," he admitted, "but a job is a job."

"Are you doing what you love?"

He shook his head. "Of course not." He was so blunt about things… so honest. He was kind of like me, but I knew he didn't want to admit it.

"Why aren't you doing what you love?" I asked.

"There's a difference between a job and a career," Jacob began. "A career is something you love to do, but a job is something you do for money. I mean, I'd have a career for the experience, but that's not gonna pay my bills or get me groceries, so I have jobs."

"What do you love to do, then? What would be your career?"

He shrugged, his eyes still on the television. "I don't know. I took a bunch of community college classes before moving here. I still don't know what I want to do. Something with cars, maybe."

"Then why don't you do anything with cars for a career?" I challenged.

"A decent job as a mechanic doesn't pay the bills alone, Bella. A career as a studying one definitely isn't gonna pay any bills."

I rolled my eyes and stared at the television, too. "Money is just money," I replied.

"Money is the reason we exist," he said sternly. "Can you pass me the remote?"

I instinctively did so, and he looked at the description of the program we were watching. "Why do you watch this crap?" he asked.

I exhaled sharply and turned to him. "I don't tell you how to live _your_ life," I said.

"Okay, that was mean of me," he admitted.

I nodded. "Just a little."

"But why do you watch it?" he asked again, softer. "What's so interesting about housewives fighting?"

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "It's just TV."

"TV can be more than that, though. I mean, try watching some quality stuff. Haven't you ever seen _Modern Family_?"

"Never," I answered.

"_The Office_?"

"Once or twice."

"Damn," he muttered. "How about _Dexter_?"

I shook my head.

"_The Walking Dead_?" he inquired.

"Nope."

His jaw dropped. "Be prepared to experience some real talent, and not this crap about middle-aged women fighting on television."

Jacob turned the television down, and I could only brace myself for what kind of prodding questions that were about to come from him. Maybe he truly wasn't out to embarrass me or screw me over, but I couldn't have been so sure. Then again, maybe he just wanted to get to know me.

"So, tell me about your boyfriend."

_Oh._

I made a face. "He is _not_ my boyfriend."

"Alright, tell me about your friend… with benefits. Why'd you leave him?"

Why did Jacob care so much? "We weren't really together in the first place," I answered carefully. "I really needed a change. And I also, uh, found your name and number in my room. It was the right time for a change."

"Did your boyfriend treat you badly or something?"

"No, not really," I replied honestly. "I mean, he never hit me or anything. He just never… cared. He doesn't care about anyone or anything but he always tries to string me along."

Jacob nodded. "So you're his backup girl."

"Sort of. I'm his main girl at the same time. I mean, he's picked me over all the whores he's been with before."

"Is he _your_ main guy?" Jake wondered.

I bit my lip and thought about that, my eyes down at my hands. Nobody was really my main guy since I always had a different guy, even for a little bit, but I didn't want to say that.

"Yeah," I finally said. "Well, he was. I don't know why."

Jacob's eyes were far away, as if he was looking back at catastrophic romances of his own. "I guess it kinda chooses you sometimes, huh?" he asked quietly.

In that instant, I could have sworn our thoughts were connected. "Mm-hmm," I hummed. "Sometimes what chooses you isn't good at all."

"But who decides that?"

"I…" I sighed. "I don't know."

"Me neither."

A long, thoughtful pause hung in the air, and I couldn't bring myself to change the subject into something completely new.

"Tell me about your girlfriend," I said. "Or your last, I mean."

He made a wary, vulnerable face, and it made me want to laugh. This man—this tall, tan, muscular, serious man—was so awkward and nervous. He was overall hopeless, and I could see right through him; he was afraid of what I would think. It was both adorable and heartbreaking at the same time. He couldn't let himself open up, and it killed me. It really did. Even if I wouldn't be staying here for long, I still didn't want to see him like this. What had ever happened to the grins or the laughs or the happiness?

Then again, maybe he was thinking that same thing about me.

"I don't know," he replied. Was that a hint of blush in his cheeks? "I mean…"

"Haven't you had a girlfriend before?" I asked him.

He awkwardly shrugged. "'Course I have. Why?"

"You never talk about any women. And Quil mentioned them earlier as if you never get them."

"I just don't have a girlfriend all the time," he said defensively. "Where's the fault in that?"

"There isn't any," I replied quickly. "You don't date a lot, do you?"

"Not really. What, is that new for you?" The hardness appeared in his face again, and I missed the vulnerability and soft honesty that had once been there.

"I guess. I'm the kind of person that always dates someone," I admitted. "Yeah, Edward's kind of my main guy, but I can admit that I do date a lot of people on the side."

"And he doesn't get mad?"

"He doesn't care," I corrected him. "He's just like me, but worse."

"Man, I hate people like that."

"So do I," I agreed. "It makes me feel lonely. My friend back at Forks—her name's Kate—and I… we used to make a lot of jokes, even though she's in the same place I was. We called ourselves the Lonely Hearts Club. It's kind of stupid now, but it's been around since we were, like, nineteen, so… Now I guess she's lonelier than ever, though. Her boyfriend doesn't even love her that much. Or he doesn't know how to."

"I guess this situation is sort of the reformed Lonely Hearts Club," Jacob said. "You and me, I mean."

"I guess so. We just need jackets. Then we'll be amazing."

He chuckled and nodded. "Sure, sure."

It was nice to get a glimpse of the old Jacob. Really, really nice. And it was then that I realized that we both really had changed over the years. We'd both became more guarded, but the only difference was that he was closed and afraid, and I was open and desperate. I supposed there was another difference, though. Maybe it was the fact that I could see just hints of the old Jacob—the Jacob that I'd spent such a short-lived, happy time with—but he couldn't see hints of the old me. Maybe there had never been an old me. Maybe there had never been _us_.

I was obviously not the type of person he liked. I was senseless, narcissistic, and indecisive; if he liked girls like me, he would have already been with one. I couldn't see the intellect in this—why had Jacob even taken me in in the first place? Why was he letting me stay for this long?

Within an hour of watching junk television (he was preoccupied with his planners), do you know what he asked me?

He asked me if I wanted to stay here with him.

He asked me if I wanted to stay here with him, in Everett, living with him.

He asked me if I wanted to stay here with him, in Everett, living with him, eating, working, sleeping, breathing, organizing, healing, and discovering… all with him. It was the greatest proposal I'd ever gotten in my life.

After I immediately said yes to his offer, I knew just why he wanted me to stay. It was as clear as day to me now. He was lonely, I was lonely… I totally understood.

Jacob was in favor of pretending, too.

* * *

_**A/N: **(I really don't know why I feel the need to have author's notes before AND after the chapter, but...) That was that. I'm aiming at about nineteen chapters and an epilogue, so this story isn't going to be too long. This is a pretty new (and strange) way for me to write Jella, in my own opinion, anyway. What'd you think?_

_I'll be updating somewhat on time, ;)_

_MTL. xox  
_


	7. Chapter Seven

_**A/N: **Hi, guys! I don't have very much to say this time. I had a little fun while writing this chapter. I hope you enjoy. :)_

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

So maybe I was wrong; maybe Jacob was into pretending as much as I'd thought. Being completely moved in must have meant nothing to him. We were two lonely people in a timeless place (we'd called ourselves the Lonely Hearts Club, for fuck's sake), so why weren't we less distant? I didn't get it. Maybe he was too obsessed with his three jobs; maybe I was too obsessed with my books and television.

It was like I missed him without even knowing him in the first place.

Sometimes between jobs and trips to the gym, I would try to do favors for Jacob. It was only to be nice, but he would never let me. He liked doing things by himself, and he never liked to have help. So closed off, so hard to hug, and so tough to talk to… That was Jacob Black in a nutshell. He was just like Edward in the way, only he wasn't lazy. At least there was hope for us. I just didn't know what I was trying to reach.

Okay, Jacob being gone all the time was a bit of an exaggeration; he _was_ around sometimes. He was around enough to help me find a job. I tackled a few odd jobs from sign-holding to dog-walking to garage-organizing, and eventually ended up with a job at a local movie theater by the first week of October.

I was grateful to get a job, but to keep things plain and simple, I hated my job.

Take a shopping mall in South Everett. Attach a movie theater to it. Throw some obnoxious teenagers in the mix. Now make it seven o'clock at night to ten, where the teenagers were their worst because there were so many of them. That was my job. Oh, and I wasn't selling tickets or ushering people to their theaters; I worked in concessions and I also helped clean up. The smell of buttery popcorn and sticky soda followed me everywhere, and it felt like people dropped all their garbage on purpose because they could and because desperate people like me had to pick it all up. And for another thing, I didn't even watch many movies. I'd never really gone to the movies as a teenager, and when I had, I'd never paid attention to the movie. I honestly didn't care for anything having to do with cinema, so I was stuck with a job that held no interest for me.

Now try tackling that every single night.

Today was Halloween. I'd thought there would be less people going to movies tonight because they would be out taking their kids trick-or-treating or something, but I was wrong. I was always wrong. I was wasting away, too. I felt super, super, _super_ suicidal due to a sudden realization.

A new ghost movie had just come out and tonight—a _Wednesday_, of all nights—was the night that just everybody and their families had to see it.

I stood behind the counter now, waiting for more orders to take. Only one thought could course through my mind. _Why am I here? _And then I remembered the answer that was the same every time: _You need the money, you stupid whore._

I was almost at rock bottom—at least I got to work the register. Some people only got the food, but I had to hand it to people. My boss had told me a week ago that I'd been "improving" with the customer service. I always had to be nice and helpful, which I really wasn't, but at least I didn't have the crappiest job.

I greeted the next customer now, a brunette teenage girl that looked about fourteen, and took her order. As I waited for one of my coworkers to get the girl her popcorn and frozen yogurt (I didn't know people ate that at the movies either), I tried to make small talk with the customer.

"So what movie are you going to see?" I asked easily.

The girl shrugged and chomped on her chewing gum, reminding me very distinctly of a cow. "_Paranormal Activity 4_."

I put on my talking-to-children voice. "Are you excited?" I ask.

The girl couldn't have looked any more bored. "Not really. I heard it sucks. I'm just here with my boyfriend." She gestured to a much older man (with a beard, mind you) sitting on a bench, his eyes down at his cell phone.

"He looks a little old for you," I remarked.

The girl raised a thin, brown eyebrow. "So?"

"Shouldn't you be out trick-or-treating or something?" I asked. "I mean, don't kids still do that?"

"Shouldn't _you_ be out on the street corners?" she asked in response. "Don't sluts still do that?"

_Not gonna lose my cool, not gonna lose my cool… _"Look, kid, I'm just saying if the movie sucks then you shouldn't waste your money. You're not even old enough to see it. It's rated R. And for your information, it's not nice to call people sluts. It's very rude."

"I call it as I see it," she replied with a smirk.

"I guess I can call out rude little girls when I see them, too."

"Could you just give me my fucking food?" she snapped. "I don't wanna miss the movie."

I scoffed. What was the little girl trying to prove? Her independence? "Don't be a bitch," I told her. "We're working on it."

"Work a little harder, then," she said slowly, like she was talking to a child. Her eyes were wide, and there was a slight smile upon her lips.

One of my coworkers eventually set down the girl's order next to me, and I tried to keep myself calm and composed. "That'll be seven twenty-five," I told her. Why movie theater concessions were so expensive never failed to confuse me.

The girl shoved a ten dollar bill in my hand. "Keep the change."

Flustered, I gave a small smile and slid her popcorn and frozen yogurt over the counter _just a little_ too hard, causing _just a little _(or a lot) of her order to spill all over her shirt. Bits of popcorn stuck to the thick, pink frozen yogurt, and it all stuck to her. _Fantastic._

The girl gasped. "You're such a cunt!" I wasn't surprised she possessed such a vocabulary.

I grinned at her. "Enjoy your movie."

* * *

She probably didn't enjoy her movie, and I didn't enjoy the rest of my shift because there wasn't one. My boss—this tall, awkward, Hispanic twenty-four-year-old named Eleazar—made me go home. He told me to take the rest of the night off, and the rest of the week (and Sunday), too. I couldn't understand why, though; he needed employees. He should have been desperate for them. Since I'd been hired, four people had left. He couldn't afford to lose any more workers, and he was basically pushing me out the door now. He knew he couldn't take it, which was why he hadn't fired me on the spot. I couldn't be fired, though. I just couldn't.

I mean, it wasn't like I was particularly mad about missing work for the next four days, but I needed to get paid. The second Jacob had set me up with a job at the theater, he'd laid down the law. _"You live here; you pay rent."_ I'd agreed, and now half of my (minimum wage) paychecks were being wiped out by default.

Anyway, I asked Eleazar if this was a paid vacation, and he'd told me yes. He was probably lying just to get me out of the area before I wasted more cups of frozen yogurt and cartons of popcorn, but I nearly danced out of the theater once I was ready to leave. I was free for _four whole days_.

I nearly cheered for joy by the time I reached my trunk, but the joy ended the second I tried to start it up. It wasn't starting up.

Don't let me give you the wrong impression; I _loved_ my truck. It was the one thing in my life that hadn't changed since I'd moved to Forks. It was always there and for the most part, it didn't judge me. It was kind of cute, too; it was a vintage (as in 1963, as in _old as hell_), rusty red, Chevy pickup. It was cute in an old person kind of way. The truck was gorgeous and a little sturdy (but mostly somewhat frail) and overall perfect from me. I'd loved it from the moment I first saw it. You know the feeling you get when you find _your_ kind of car? The Chevy was definitely _my_ kind of car.

It was still a piece of shit, though.

The truck didn't go very fast and it was annoying to maintain, but I hadn't been hoping it would die on me. Especially now. It was Halloween, dammit—I was not going to walk home and risk a load of snotty-nosed children asking me for candy, or immature teenagers throwing eggs at me. Nope. Never. Cursing at my truck, I went back into the theater and behind the counter for the thousandth time. Before Eleazar could tell me to leave again, I spoke. "I need to talk to Carmen," I explained. He nodded in agreement.

I found Carmen, another one of my coworkers (whom I was pretty sure was dating Eleazar), back near the kitchen, just exiting it. "Oh, hello, Bella," she greeted me. "Weren't you going to go home?"

"Kind of," I replied. "I got sent home. But the thing is, my truck's not starting up. Can I use your phone for a second?"

"Okay." She dug into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. Handing it to me, she looked in the general direction of the mess I'd made. "Eleazar's not making you clean up your mess?" she asked.

I shook my head as I dialed Jacob's home phone. He had to be home—the high school he worked at was long closed as it was seven-thirty at night. "No," I told Carmen. "I guess he just wants me out of here."

"I pity whoever has to clean it up, then," she said.

"Yeah, so do I."

I brought the phone up to my ear and waited as the line rang and rang. On the fourth or fifth one, someone finally picked up. "Hello?"

"Jacob?" I asked.

"_Bella?"_

"Yeah, it's Bella."

"_What's up?"_

"I need a ride home."

"_I thought your shift ends at ten."_

"Mine ended early," I tried to quickly explain. "I'll tell you the rest later, but I need a ride. The truck, like… died on me. Can you pick me up?"

"_Sure, sure."_

"Thanks, Jake."

"_No problem."_

He hung up, and I handed Carmen her phone back. "I think he's mad at me," I said.

Her eyebrows knit closer. "Why do you think that?"

"He wasn't really talking with me, and he sounded annoyed."

"Maybe he was doing something," she suggested. "He has a life, too, I'm pretty sure."

"I know, but it just sucks," I replied. "It feels like I'm holding him back from things he wants to do. He's always picking me up and doing things for me because I'm such a fail."

"Is he dating someone?" Carmen asked. "Or is he in a dedicated relationship?"

Jacob never dated or even brought home girls. I never brought home anybody either but it was different with him. It was like he was opposed to dating people. I shook my head. "No."

"Maybe he had somebody over," she advised easily.

I bit the inside of my cheek. "Maybe," I agreed.

Was it bad that I didn't want him to?

* * *

Jacob eventually picked me up at the front of the theater, and he didn't even look that mad at me. So I'd been wrong about one thing.

I slid into the seat of the Rabbit, and closed the door a little harder than necessary.

"So what happened?" he asked me as he started driving back to his—or was _our_ the correct word?—apartment.

"This stupid girl was messing with me and I ended up throwing her food at her," I said bluntly.

Jacob's eyes widened. "_Wow_. How old was she? Seven?"

"Stop," I said. "And she was, like, fourteen."

His eyes remained wide. "Seriously, Bella? Throwing shit at a kid at your _job_?"

"You should've been there, though," I tried to say in my defense. "She called me a slut. Oh, and then a cunt."

"Was that before or after you threw food at her?"

"The 'slut' part or the 'cunt' part?"

"The 'cunt' part."

"After," I clarified. "She had it coming, though."

"Damn, I just hope you don't get fired." He glanced at me at the stop light. God, he had some beautiful eyes… except that wasn't entirely true; he had beautiful _everything_. His looks were my weak spot, and I wasn't afraid to admit it to myself.

"I know," I agreed.

"You're not a robot, though," he said, turning back to the road. "People can't expect you to be perfect."

"Yeah. How was your day? I mean, I know I asked you this earlier, but still." I was such an idiot around him. I never knew the right words to say because he was so smart and I was so nervous with him. He was as sharp as a knife.

"It was alright," he answered. "I guess we both dealt with stupid kids today."

"You're much better at it than me, though," I pointed out. "You deal with them almost every single day."

"Sure, but I do kind of like the kids."

"Why?"

"Some are really special. Talented. Ya know."

I'd never really been able to see that in people. "That's nice," I replied.

"Yeah." He started pulling into the apartment complex, and once we finally got out, I looked at him. Carmen's comment still lingered in my mind. "Yes?" Jacob asked.

"Did you have anyone over today?" I asked. "I know it's not my place to worry, but I was just wondering because you sounded kind of pissed at me on the phone, like I was butting into something."

He chuckled. "No need to worry, Bella," he said. "All you really butted into was me and _The Walking Dead._"

I must have made a really stupid face because he laughed. "It's not funny!" I said. "I seriously thought you had someone over."

"Bells, you'll never have to worry about me having girls around, and if I did, I'd tell you." Hearing _Bells_ was like music to my ears.

"Why don't you ever have girls around?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I'm not really quick to sleep around. I guess I'm just waiting for the right girl."

"Are you with anybody right now?"

"You'd know if I was."

That was all I wanted to hear. I bit my lip and nodded. "Okay."

* * *

After changing into pajamas, I decided to watch _The Walking Dead_ with Jacob. He had the first two seasons on DVD, and we were just on the mid-season finale of season one. I was so confused, but during the beginning of the episode, Jake and I kind of just talked. I put my feet up on the couch and curled into Jacob's warm body, my head resting on the side of his arm. He was still sort of at a distance with me—still sort of guarded—but at least he was letting me rest here.

"Why is the guy in the hat being so rude to Rick and his wife?" I asked.

"The guy in the hat is Shane. Lori—the wife—was sleeping with him because she thought Rick was dead, but now that Rick's back, she's guilty."

"Oh."

"She's a pretty big whore," Jake concluded.

"But she thought Rick was dead," I reminded him.

"That doesn't give her an excuse to mess around with his best friend," he said.

"We've all got our obsessions," I told him.

"That's not an obsession, though—it's called being a whore."

"Maybe she found safety in Shane," I said in Lori's defense. "Being with somebody new doesn't make you a whore at all. It's called opening up and letting people in. Maybe you could learn a thing or two from Lori."

"Okay, that's not even fair," Jake replied. "The zombie apocalypse hasn't happened yet."

"Well, fine," I agreed. "But Lori's not a whore for accepting kindness."

He sighed. "Sure, sure."

Things got quiet as we paid more attention to the show, and there was a sudden ring of the doorbell that startled both of us.

"Fuck," I groaned. "Trick-or-treaters."

"They're not that bad," Jake said with a shrug. He got up, picked up a bowl of candy from the kitchen counter, and went to the door. As soon as he opened it, a unison of "Trick or treat" erupted from outside. "Hey, guys," he greeted the kids. I heard plenty of "thank yous" as Jacob dropped pieces of candy into their bags, and once he was done, he closed the door and walked back to me, the bowl of candy still in his hands.

"You're so good with kids," I observed.

"I've gotta agree," he said as he sat back. He took a piece of candy and handed me the bowl. "We're probably not gonna get too many trick-or-treaters," he said. "Only two other sets of kids came up here all night. The rest of the candy's yours."

"Thanks."

I had more than my fair share of candies, and for one thing, I didn't feel like throwing them up. I hadn't felt like this for about a week and a half now. I could safely say that I didn't feel regretful for eating anything. I felt good and _free._

"You know what?" Jacob asked.

I looked up at him. "What?"

"I think it's time to make this place feel like home," he suggested. "What do you think?"

_Am I hearing this correctly?_

_Did he just say that?_

Yes. He did say that.

Not only did he want me to live with him, but he wanted to make things feel like _home_.

"I think that is fucking fantastic," I replied.

"I know I've been kinda away lately. I think it's time for a change. I barely even see you, and I'm sorry about that."

"It's okay."

"Really?"

"Really."

He smiled at me. "Aw, thanks, Bells."

It was safe to say that I melted, and any sense of protection I had over myself had far disappeared. Jacob wasn't a heartbreaker, but he could be. I was a heartbreaker, but I could be willing to give it up just to be happy. I mean, sure, I could admit it: I was still clueless. I didn't know what I wanted from Jacob, exactly, but I knew that I wanted to be happy. Maybe I even wanted him to be happy. I had not even the slightest idea of what I wanted to attain from Jacob, but I might have wanted something.

I might have wanted _him._

I sunk into the couch and leaned a little into Jacob. As I watched (the very bad-ass, I might add) Rick Grimes shoot zombies in the head, a sense of relief and realization washed over me, all in one.

_Maybe Jacob is who I want._

* * *

**_A/N: _**_There ya go! Now, I'm curious as to what you guys think. I always am._

_Have a fantastic day/week/month/year/life,_

_MTL. xo_


	8. Chapter Eight

_**A/N: **__You guys are awesome, as always. I feel like I have the best crowd ever. And I'm sorry, Josh, but a little bit of the doom and gloom is back. It won't be here forever, though._

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

"Look, Bells, I don't think I need you to dress me. I'm a grown man, you know."

"Jake, I think you _need_ me. You were a mess before I came along." I tugged at his necktie, tightening it. "You should be glad I'm doing more than just dressing you, too. Your hair was getting a little long—it had to be trimmed." I brushed down the hairs of the back of his head and smiled. "Now you're perfect. Renovation, remember?"

_Renovation_ was the key word in Operation: Let's Make This Place a Home. That meant getting new items—lots of them. Jacob was a neat freak and everything, but he didn't have good taste at all. Not in clothes or décor or anything besides food (and his plasma TV), really, but we both kept getting better faster.

I supposed that in a way, me being evicted from my apartment and appearing at his front door back in September had to have been a good thing. Jacob needed a woman in his life, and even though he wouldn't ever touch me for longer than a slight brush (not even a hug, I shit you not), I knew he was appreciative of me. Everyday he got a little closer. He would smile a little longer; take himself a little less seriously… It made me feel more _at home_, which was his point. He just wasn't at home with me.

Jacob wasn't a heartbreaker or even a fixer—he was much more of an environment changer. The more time I spent with him, the more I saw that he didn't know how to use his emotions, or he was hiding them. I doubted he knew what emotions _were_. I never had a heart to mend, but I was still broken in some ways. Then again, I always attempted to fix things without being in good condition myself. Jacob, though… He was a different story. I could see it in his eyes right now as I looked up at him, and it was that he didn't know what to say. I knew he didn't hate me, but did he like me? I wouldn't know until he would tell me.

"Look at yourself," I said, smoothing down his shirt and moving a little out of the way so he could see himself in the mirror of his bedroom. He looked nice—great, even—but I wasn't going to resist running my hands down his torso. Pecs and abs, abs and pecs… _Jesus._ I hadn't seen him shirtless for even a whole second (and naked? Forget about it), so this was almost a treat. This guy was all muscle under smooth, toffee-colored skin. And there was more than just the raging attractiveness; he made me want to get into better shape. It was the middle of November—the sixteenth, to be exact—and I wasn't starving myself or puking anymore. I was eating and somewhat helping Jake cook and _living._ I just wasn't working out. Especially now.

"Today's just a regular Friday," Jacob said. "There's no need to get all dressed up." He wore a blue and white striped button-up with charcoal pants and a tie to match. The tie had some dark blue stripes on it, too. Okay, Jacob didn't look just fine. He looked _fine_. There was a huge difference. One-hundred percent eligible to fuck, and that was just honesty.

"Well, then maybe you need a reason," I replied. "You look great."

"Do I?"

I nodded. "You look fantastic. If I was a student at the high school, I'd be totally hot for the teacher."

He smiled a little, like he knew it was true. "I'm a security guard," he reminded me. "Not a teacher."

"Whatever."

"I'm actually surprised that they're not calling you in at work today," he said. (You heard that correctly? I kept my job at the theater.)

"Why?"

"I think you've been living too much in your books. A huge movie just came out. The last in a franchise."

"Which movie?"

"_Twi_… something. I haven't been paying too much attention. It's totally a teen movie."

"God, I guess I really _don't_ know my movies," I replied. "Was that why every teenage girl in the city and their moms started piling into the theater at, like, seven last night? Waiting for the midnight premiere?"

"Yeah, probably. And I guess that's why they didn't make you stay. They might call you in earlier today, though you're not good with teenage girls."

I snickered. "What's so special about this movie, anyway?" I wondered.

"I don't know," Jake admitted. "It's just a silly old vampire movie. There'll be a trillion more just like it."

"If it's so huge, you can't just replace it," I countered. "Jeez, Jake. You think everything's so replaceable. Have a heart." So it was bold of me to tell _him_ to have a heart, but I still got my point across… I hoped.

"Sure, sure," he replied. He took one last look in the mirror and then exited his bedroom. I followed him, and offered to make breakfast.

"_You_ know how to _cook_?" he asked, entering the living room. "And at seven in the morning?"

"You make it sound like it's such a big surprise," I said. "I've been watching you for, like, two months now."

He sat down at the small table in the small dining room and leaned back in his chair. "Anyone can _watch_ someone cook. Have you actually _tried_ cooking?"

I pursed my lips and glared at him from across the table.

He laughed (_God, I love the way he throws his head back_) and I put on a mock face of offense.

"You're such an ass," I said.

Jacob, still smiling, stood up and started making his way to the living room. "At least I'm an ass that can cook."

"You just gave me some _terrible_ imagery," I replied. "Now my day's going to be of a bare ass in an apron making me pancakes."

"My bad."

I rolled my eyes. "Sure, sure," I quoted him.

"Hey, you're turning into me," he observed.

I widened my eyes and put my hands to my cheeks dramatically. "The horror!"

He laughed and picked up his leather jacket hanging on the side of the couch. It kind of matched his clothes, and it made him look _so damn good_.

"What are you going to do about breakfast?" I asked as he went to the door. "I mean, since you don't trust my cooking."

"I'll pick something up," he replied, starting to unlock the door.

I hadn't meant for the words _Love you_ to slip from my lips, but they did. As Jacob left, he didn't even respond, which was a first. He was _always_ talking… He just never stopped. Now he was silent.

I wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

* * *

Like Jacob had predicted, I was called in early to work. After returning to sleeping like the dead just like I always had (because I always saw Jacob in the morning but seven was too early for my liking), I was woken with a phone call, at ten o'clock. It was Eleazar, desperately pleading for me to come in at twelve-thirty and work until seven. So he was basically asking, "Can you come in and be killed by teenage girls in vampire movie t-shirts?" I was good at reading my boss' mind now.

It wasn't like I said no. It sounded like a fairly shitty idea, but like always, I needed the money, and he was even asking me to come in after the lunch break. It was shitty, but not too shitty.

With a two-and-a-half hours left until I had to work, I roamed the apartment like I always did. There was nothing to do (like always) or nobody to see (like always). I still hadn't attained the guts to see Quil and Claire outside of when Jacob was here because I still lived in fear of being judged by them. I was pretty sure that to Quil, I was still the mysterious mistress that Jacob had hired out of nowhere to fulfill his lonely heart….

_Gah._

Out of boredom, I logged onto Facebook. Zero notifications again with a thousand messages. I ignored the ones from Edward, hoping to find one actually worth reading somewhere in the mix, and there I saw—

_Wait, what?_

There was one new message from Renee Dwyer? It was really new, too; just from last night.

I opened it, not knowing what to expect, and it was a short message. My mother never had just a _little _too say, especially now, since she hadn't talked to me since I'd been eighteen.

From this one message, I knew that my mother hadn't changed. She was still sort of ditzy. I did get her point through her video, but I could have laughed at the fact that it said, _Message me back as ASAP as possible._ Well, shit, at least she'd tried.

She was serious, though—she was never _not_ serious.

I tentatively typed up a response: _I'm here._

Bracing myself, I waited for her to say something back. Just about anything could have happened with Renee.

* * *

"No, Mom, you don't understa—"

"Bella, I understand perfectly. You're a bum!"

I groaned unattractively. "I am _not_ a bum!"

"Then why are you living with a man you don't even know?"

"I _do_ know Jacob!"

"Then how come you never mentioned him until now?"

"How come _you_ never called me until now?"

She went silent, and I knew I was right.

Renee had asked for my number, and I'd given it to her. Well, it was Jacob's home phone number, but it was still technically mine. The second I'd answered, she'd gone off on me about how I was "such a bad girl" who "didn't even want to contact her mother." There was a reason why I mostly referred to her as my mother instead of my mom: she'd birthed me but she was certainly not a mom. Renee was a monster.

But who was _she_ to judge _me_ for living with a guy I'd just reconnected with, when _she_ changed from rich man to rich man like most women changed clothes? It didn't make sense. And then she'd blamed me for not talking to her, when maybe the problem was her.

"This has nothing to do with me," Renee finally answered. "This is about you. Why haven't you talked me in three years?"

"Maybe it was something you did," I replied. "Or maybe it was something you _didn't_ do."

"What do you even mean, Bella?" she asked impatiently. "You never get your point across."

"Why haven't I gotten Christmas cards—or even _birthday_ cards, for fuck's sake—from the past three years?"

"I didn't raise you to use that kind of language with me, missy."

"You didn't _raise_ me at all." I protested. The tears burned in my eyes, and I knew I probably shouldn't be doing this. I wasn't supposed to talk like this to my mom… but she wasn't even my mom. "I mean, not the right way, at least. You fucking pushed me to be this established, grown woman by the time I was twelve. When I was a kid and I messed up, you got so mad at me. You never raised me as a human being; you've treated me as a robot. That's not okay."

"I raised you to be _independent_," she said, still keeping her cool. "I guess I may have done something wrong, then. You're relying on a man to take care of you."

"You're doing the same thing!" I shouted. "What the hell do you call _your_ lifestyle!?"

"Do not yell at me!" she shouted back. "And just because it was too late for me doesn't mean it's too late for you."

"Well, I'm living like this," I replied. "You're not the best example of feminism, anyway. I think you've been that way from the start. Mom, what did you call for in the first place? To judge me, like always?"

"I actually called to tell you I'm getting married."

_What news_, I thought sarcastically. This was the third engagement I was aware of, and there were probably many more. "How long have you known this guy?" I asked. "A week?"

"We've been together for a year," Renee replied. "His name is Phil, and I was wondering if you would like to come to the wedding."

"I don't even know Phil," I said. "And no."

"I wasn't asking you—I was telling you. I was also going to tell you that that's been ruined."

"Good."

"Fine."

"Bye."

I clicked the _End _button on the phone and lost it. I screamed into the empty space. I screamed with all my strength. I screamed until my throat hurt. I screamed because I deserved to.

Or did I?

* * *

I left for work early; I just had to get out of that apartment. I hoped Renee would lose my phone number. I hoped she wouldn't talk to me ever again.

When I entered the mall—because there was _no fucking way_ I was going hang around in the theater—I roamed around. I was a wanderer; I was invisible. I also felt somewhat celestial at the same time.

I mean, if celestial people occasionally stopped at taco stands. Did they?

I ended up at a taco place that couldn't even be considered a restaurant—a taco stand was the only thing I could really call it. It must have been great, though, because there was a fairly long line, and I was in the back of it. Nobody got behind me—ever. Once I finally got to the front, I was surprised to see who the worker in solitary was.

It was Quil.

"Hey, Bella," he greeted me. "What can I get for you?"

I searched for a menu of some sorts, and couldn't find one. "What do you have?"

"Tacos," he replied, gesturing to the cart that most likely held tacos.

"I'll have a taco, then," I said with a smile.

As he started preparing it—even though there wasn't much to do—one of my thoughts escaped out of my mouth. "Do you like your job?" I wondered.

"Yeah, kinda," he replied. "The customers are cool. I don't know why I was hired, though… I mean, I'm not even Mexican."

I snickered. "If we're gonna be fair, then I'm not even into movies."

"Jake told me you work at the theater," he said matter-of-factly. "Do you want salsa?"

"Sure."

He poured some salsa on the taco and eventually wrapped it in paper.

"What else has Jacob told you about me?" I asked. I was really trying to not be nosy, but it wasn't working.

"Not much," Quil replied easily. He handed me my taco. "That'll be one seventy-five."

Trying to hide the little disappointment that came with his answer, I reached into my purse. "That's pretty expensive for a taco. I heard they cost eighty-nine cents at Taco Bell."

"Ew, don't mention that crap to me. It's gross. Tacos cost more here because they taste only a trillion times better."

"You and Jake are always judging my taste," I said, making a face, as I handed him the money.

"Trust me—you'll get better taste over time." He smiled impishly.

I nodded. "We'll see. Thanks, by the way. I bet this tastes as good as it smells."

"It does," he clarified.

I waved goodbye and started walking back to the movie theater. I got the strange impression that I was probably late. If Eleazar wouldn't let me have my lunch there, then it would serve as a peace offering.

* * *

When Jacob had said the new vampire movie was huge, it truly _was_ humongous. It was the only movie showing in the entire theater that day, and I found myself lost in a sea of t-shirts, ponytails, and tears. People—mostly teenage girls and older women, with some little girls in the mix—entered the theater in excitement and left with mascara running down their faces. Some men went, too, and most of them looked reluctant, but there were the occasional guys who actually looked happy to be there. There were still a lot of criers, and even some people who looked angry. And then there were the people who looked so happy with life, like their calling was just answered in the most spiritual ways.

I would never, _ever_ understand this cult.

My truck had been repaired by Jacob two days after it had broken down, and now it ran just as it usually did. Maybe even better.

I eventually entered the apartment to be greeted by the aromas of tomatoes and ground beef. I looked to the kitchen, where Jacob stood behind the counter, cooking. It never got tiring to see a good-looking man cooking a meal, especially when he was wearing an apron that proved so.

"Honey, I'm home," I greeted him, setting my purse down on the couch and slipping my shoes off.

As I walked to the kitchen to supervise and take notes on his spaghetti-preparing expertise, he asked me how my day had gone.

I sighed and watched as he chopped up green peppers. He was always so good with his hands; it was crazy. "It was a lot, but I'm getting the hang of it, I think."

"Did the teenage girls give you any trouble?" he asked, looking at me with those lovely dark brown eyes. The flecks of gold in them got my every time.

I shook my head, my eyes still on his. I tried to hide the fact that my breathing had hitched. I turned into a hormonal little girl around him; it was pathetic. What was even more pathetic was the fact that he probably didn't like me back. "They didn't give me any trouble," I replied.

"That's nice," he said.

I got a little lost in his eyes for a bit, and that was suddenly interrupted when he laughed—_loudly_. He was staring at the television, and apparently, Michael Scott from _The Office_ had said something funny.

"Jesus, Jacob!" I said, exasperated. "You gave me a heart attack!"

He gave a slight smile. "My bad, Bella. That was just the best 'that's what she said' told on this show, ever. Michael is fucking hilarious."

I shook my head at him and crossed my arms.

"What are you judging about me this time?" Jacob asked, seasoning the ground beef in the skillet.

"You don't read enough!" I expressed.

"I don't have the time to read."

"But you have time to watch reruns of _The Office_, don't you?"

"Everyone has time for that. The first couple of seasons were fantastic."

"Look here, Jake," I began. "You should read something good at least once in your life."

"You are _not_ going to make me read _Romeo and_—"

"God, no," I interrupted him, disgusted. "Who do you think I am? Not all women find _Romeo and Juliet_ the greatest love story of time. It's hardly a love story."

Jacob started rinsing the noodles, and I went to the cabinet to get a couple of plates out. "Then what is it?" he asked.

"A story of stupid kids doing stupid things," I told him. "Well, anyway, that's not my point. My point is that you should read _The Count of Monte Cristo_."

"What _is_ that?"

"One of the greatest adventure novels of all time. It's a classic. I have the translated version and that's pretty fantastic, but I bet the original story in French is even better." I set the plates down, and he started serving us. I quickly prepared a salad—he must have forgotten about that.

"What's it about?" Jacob asked.

"Revenge," I said simply. "There are _so_ many characters and it's all _so_ fascinating."

"You're gonna make me read it whether it kills me, aren't you?"

I looked up at him. "Exactly."

"Well, I'll make you a deal," he offered.

"Shoot."

"If I read this book, then you have to watch the entire second season of _The Office_ on DVD."

I made a face. "Why can't I start at season one?"

"Season one is only six episodes long. That wouldn't be fair."

I sighed. "Fine."

"This is more of a challenge for me than it is for you," he said.

"No it's not," I disagreed. "Reading is way better than watching a cheesy television show."

"You're gonna take that back. _The Office_ would blow your Monte Carlo book out of the water."

"It's Monte _Cristo_," I corrected him. "And you can suck it because that's not true. You're gonna take your words back, Jacob."

"So it's a bet?" He held out his right hand.

I shook it and smirked at him. "It's a bet."

* * *

"_God_, Jake," I moaned. "This is fantastic. I've never tasted anything better than this."

"That's what she said."

"Shut up."

We were at the table, eating dinner across from each other. Somewhere in the renovating process (which wasn't even over yet, since there was _always_ room for renovation, in Jake's eyes) we decided that eating at the table was the most _home_ thing to do, though I still thought he would rather watch _The Office_. He didn't have to try to hide how much he wanted to pretend from me. Pretending was okay; I'd pretended my entire my life.

After swallowing another bite of salad, I asked Jacob where he'd learned to cook so well.

"When I first moved here from La Push," he started, "me and Quil shared a shitty little place where we ate ramen noodles every night. I got sick of it, so I learned how to cook and get another job while I was at it. Then I got another job. Now I've got a penthouse apartment and three jobs."

"Living large, aren't you?" I teased.

He chuckled. "I wish. It's just nice to have cool things, and anyone saying they don't value cool things is lying because everyone likes cool things."

"True," I agreed. "Well, anyway, this meal truly is delicious."

"Wait, I've gotta know _how_ delicious this is," he challenged. "Is it just-like-Mom-used-to-make delicious?"

"Probably," I replied honestly. "If she, you know, ever cooked for me."

"Your mom never cooked?" Jacob asked.

"No. She's kind of a bitch." I made a face down at my almost-empty plate. "She called today, actually. The first time in three years."

"Well, that's fucked up."

I nodded. "I know."

"Damn, you're lucky, in a way. I'd rather have a bitchy mom than a dead one. Anything is better than having a dead mom."

I nodded again. "Yeah, but she's not really mom. She's just my mother."

"There's a difference?"

"Mm-hmm. She didn't really raise me."

"What do you mean?"

I bit my lip and darted my eyes around Jacob. The clock on the oven seemed to be frozen. There was a bird perched on the ledge of the little balcony outside. There was a small stain in the cream-colored carpet and I wasn't sure where it had come from.

"What I mean is…" I began. "When I was growing up, she kept telling me what _not_ to be, and that everything I wanted to be was wrong. I never figured out what I wanted or what I wanted to be. And what's sad is that I _still_ don't know."

"Aww, Bells," Jake said softly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I told him. "It's not your fault. I just… My life's a mess. Every time I think something good is happening, everything just gets fucked over, even just a little bit. And it sucks. I don't know what I'm supposed to act like. I mean… over these past couple of months I've been, like, a brat, and kind of a homewrecker, and a bunch of other things because I'm scared and I don't know what I want or what you want from me. I just want to be okay. Everything I touch turns to shit, and I'm sorry."

Jacob leaned forward to the table and looked at me straight in the eyes. I could barely see him, though, because my vision was blurred. I was such a crier—I would never stop crying for the life of me.

"It's okay, honey," he told me. "You're okay."

I sniffled. "Look at me—I'm crying."

"It's okay to say you've got a weak spot."

I nodded. "Robots aren't supposed to have weak spots," I joked half-heartedly.

"C'mon, Bells. You are not a robot. Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me that you are not a robot."

"Is this how you cheer people up at your jobs?" I asked, my eyes narrowed.

He was serious. "C'mon."

"Fine. I am not a robot."

"You are _not_ a robot."

"I am _not_ a fucking robot," I decided.

"Now how do you feel?" he asked me.

"Not like a robot, that's for sure. You've taught me how to feel real."

He chuckled and I couldn't help but laugh back. Suddenly the telephone rang, and Jacob got up to answer it. I sank into my seat, hoping it wasn't for me.

"Hello?" he asked into the phone.

He waited for a while, and then shock went across his face. "Oh, sure," he said quietly. "I guess it's only fair, right? …Okay. I guess it's done… Wait, who's coming? Rachel _and_ Rebecca? And Charlie, too? Holy crap. Well, alright… Talk to you later." He hung up and ran a hand through his hair.

I sat up. "What about Charlie?" I asked.

"He's coming over on Thanksgiving," he replied. "And so are my dad, my sisters, and probably Quil and Claire."

"Thanksgiving?" I asked.

"Thanksgiving," he repeated.

"Fuck," I groaned.

"What?"

"I have to cook."

* * *

I was way more stressed that I was supposed to be. Or was I? It was just my dad… coming over… seeing me… judging me.

Did I deserve to feel this way? Did I deserve to sit in front the mirror at one in the morning and hate what I saw? Did I deserve to want to take a pair of perfect, sharp scissors and cut off all my hair? Did I deserve to take the other end of my toothbrush and force it down my throat?

I wasn't sure.

Maybe I deserved to think my mother was right.

If Jacob were to find me here, he would probably evict me. He didn't want me to puke or starve. He wanted me to be okay. He didn't know, though. He had no idea how hard it was to quit bad, ugly habits, and that was because he wasn't a bad or ugly person, but I was.

_This isn't going to last forever_, I told myself. _This is just temporary. All of your stresses will go away._

So I took the other end. I gagged. I puked. I puked with all my strength. I puked until my throat hurt. I puked because I deserved to.

It didn't make all my stresses dissolve, though; it made me cry.

_This isn't going to last forever._

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ Guys, this isn't an angst story. I promise. Just a couple of angsty things happen, lol._

_BUT I HAVE SOME NEWS._

_I'll be gone from April 18 until April 21 on a trip to California (!) and I don't know exactly how many chapters I would like to post before I leave. I would like to post two or three... or maybe even four. I don't know! How do you feel about that? How many chapters would you like to read between now and the 18th? This is your story as much as it's mine; I write for you guys. So what do you think? Let me know!_

_With love,_

_MTL. xo_


	9. Chapter Nine

_**A/N: **I'm doing it, guys. Four chapters before I go on my trip. I meant to post each chapter on Sundays and Wednesdays, but I got a little carried away this time... lol. Sorry. This chapter was fun for me to write, and I hope you guys enjoy._

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

The following Tuesday, I got a call at work. (I got permanently moved to the twelve-thirty to seven shift, and I was even being paid more, so one point for me) I was on my lunch break, but I wasn't eating—I would effectively stuff myself at Thanksgiving, so I could wait.

Eleazar called Tia—one of my new co-workers—who called then me to his little office, and there was a phone call waiting for me. I pressed the phone to my ear and asked, "Hello?"

"Bella?" an eager voice greeted me.

"Hey, Jake," I replied, a little uneasy; he never called me at work, so I was worried. Had someone died? Was he having issues? Did he need a ride? Did—

"Could you please tell me how _The Count of Monte Cristo_ ends?" he demanded.

Silly me; I was just overreacting, like always. I would have to work on that.

I giggled. "No, no, no," I said. "You'll have to find out for yourself."

"I've been reading at work like a maniac," he informed me. "Seriously, I haven't even been doing my jobs, and I just started this book last Saturday. I've only got a hundred pages left."

"_Congratulations_," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Would you like a medal?"

"Don't be mean."

I smiled to myself. "I'm not being mean," I teased.

"This book is the _shit_," he said. "Edmond Dantes is a bad-ass."

"I agree," I replied, "but I'm not gonna tell you the ending."

"Is it that mind-blowing?" he asked excitedly. "Am I gonna blow chunks?"

"If you like happy endings," I answered honestly. "I didn't really like the end of the book."

"Oh, fuck," Jacob muttered. "It's a happy ending!?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"I'm sorry, too."

"It's not like it sucks, though," I quickly said. I really didn't want to ruin the book for him, or the fact that he was spending so much time on it. "It's satisfying."

"What do you mean by _satisfying_?"

"Um…" I struggled to find the right words. "Like, not the best pizza, but not the worse, either. Okay, no, I don't eat pizza that much. It's like… not the greatest sex in the world, but definitely not the worst. Those are kind of the same thing, right?"

So maybe those weren't the _right_ words.

Jacob cleared his throat, and it sounded like he was trying to muffle a laugh. Of course, I would awkwardly bring up sex in a normal, everyday conversation. Of course, he would laugh.

"Well, if I don't have a mini orgasm once it's over," he finally replied, "then I'm demanding a better book to read, and you'll have to watch season four of _The Office_ in full."

"Aww," I cooed. "You'd read another book, just for me?"

"Yeah," he said. "Reading's kinda cool. Just as long as you'd watch _The Office_, of course."

"Then you're on," I agreed. "But I have way more books than the DVDs you have of _The Office_."

"Who says that's the only television show I watch?" he challenged.

I beamed. "Okay, okay. Are we still on for grocery shopping tonight?"

"Wait, for what?"

"Oh my God, Jake," I said. "You're losing it. Grocery shopping for Thanksgiving, remember? Like, all of your family's coming over?"

"Actually, not all of them," he corrected. "Rebecca can't make it. She's staying with her husband in Hawaii even though I'm positive he doesn't give a shit about her. And Rachel's bringing her boyfriend Paul." He groaned.

"Who's this Paul person and why are you so upset about him coming?"

"He's fucking ridiculous. That's what."

"Oh."

"Hey, don't drive straight home from work today," he told me.

"Why?"

"I'm gonna pick you up on my bike."

"Is it a bicycle built for two?" I asked goofily.

He chuckled. "Nah, it's a motorcycle. I built it myself. So I'll see you tonight?"

"How are we supposed to get the groceries, though?"

"I'll pick you up on my bike, drive you around, go get a burger, and come back for your truck."

"Okay," I said.

"It's a date?"

"It's a date. I gotta go now. The boss is about to take the phone away."

"Bye, Jake."

"Bye, Bells."

"Love you." _Shit._

"Love you, too."

I hung up and nearly blushed. Maybe he hadn't said that out of habit. He'd asked me out on a date, after all.

Eleazar was less than pleased when I got off the phone. "Sorry I took so long," I told him sheepishly.

"It's your lunch break you're wasting," he reminded me. "But I'm not going to tolerate you having phone sex with your boyfriend at your job."

What a tight-ass. Maybe if he and Carmen had phone sex more often, he would be less strict over his employees doing it at work.

"It wasn't phone sex," I carefully said.

He snickered. "Sure."

I rolled my eyes at him and returned to my job with a better attitude than I'd arrived with.

I had a date with Jacob Black to look forward to.

* * *

I was waiting at the door to hear Jake's motorcycle rev up at the entrance, and a tremendous smile took place on my face. He was letting me escape with him, which was all I wanted.

In the crisp November air, Jacob greeted me with a hug, and I no longer felt cold. Warmth like no other replaced the coolness, and I felt okay. I felt great. I felt _at home_. Jacob helped me put on the helmet he'd brought for me, and then he put me onto his black, shiny motorcycle. It looked even shinier in the bright lights of the movie theater.

With my arms wrapped against his waist, we got away, zooming through South Everett like we were on top of the world and like time wasn't against us. Then again, it truly _wasn't_ against us. We were in a timeless place, and I liked things that way.

I pressed my head to Jacob's back as we drove in a direction I wasn't familiar with, and eventually, we ended up at a fifties-styled drive-in restaurant. A huge, yellow, spinning sign with the word _Dick's_ on it stood tall in the sky, and Jacob found a parking spot.

"This is my favorite spot," he told me, taking off his helmet and then helping me off the bike. Knowing my luck, I would end up falling off.

"We're not in Everett, are we?" I wondered.

He shook his head. "I _wish_ they would put a Dick's in Everett."

We approached the lines to order food, and there were three lines, but they were only… _hmm_… a thousand miles long. "Is this a really popular place or what?" I asked.

"Pretty popular," he admitted. "I'll try taking you here at midnight sometime."

"Why midnight?"

"Everything tastes better at midnight," he explained.

I smiled. "Alright."

He smiled back. "Alright," he repeated.

We waited in line, and finally had our food in fifteen minutes. We went back to the motorcycle, and I leaned against it as I devoured my burger. I even got fries and a milkshake to go with it—I was _starving._ So I was allowed to slip a little. No biggie. No puking tonight either. I was going to stick by that.

"My God, this is greasy," I remarked before eating another oily French fry.

"That's the Dick's trademark," he said. "I mean… come on."

I smirked. "Sure, sure. Did you finish _The Count of Monte Cristo_ yet?"

"Nah. I didn't have much time to read it down at the garage. I'm still waiting for that mini orgasm." He laughed, and I laughed with him. "Have you finished season two of _The Office_?" he asked.

I shook my head and took a sip of my strawberry milkshake. "I'm an entire disk away from being done."

His lips pursed together, forming an _O. _"_Ooooh_."

"What?"

"Looks like I'll be finishing my portion of the bet first."

"This is a bet," I reminded him. "Not a race." I took the last bite of my burger and then finished the last of my fries.

He down his vanilla milkshake and shook his head. There was a streak of white above his lip, and the tip of his nose was covered in the same material. "Nuh-uh," he said. "Now it is."

"I'm not gonna take you seriously with your milkshake all over you face," replied. "Just so you know."

He dramatically put his hands on his hips. "I'm a very serious man, Bella."

I laughed and punched him playfully in the stomach. His abs were made of stone, I swore to God. "Get that stuff off your face and we'll talk," I told him.

"C'mon, why don't you lick it off?" he dared.

Still laughing, I balled up my garbage and threw it at him. "Not now," I promised him. "It's still early."

He picked up the trash I threw at him and wiped off his face with a napkin. "Suit yourself," he said. "You done?"

I took one last sip of my milkshake. "Yup." Walking to the trash can with him, I felt strangely comfortable and just… _right_. Sure, it was cold because it was November in Washington, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered besides the fact that I was happy and carefree. It was so easy to see another thing as well: Jacob wouldn't break my heart. He wasn't a bad person at all; he was wholesome and funny and truthful and pretty damn okay.

_I could get used to this_, I thought.

* * *

"Oh, hell," Jacob groaned. "We should've made a list."

We were at a supermarket in Everett now, just down the street from home, and we were clueless. It was now that I just realized that whenever Jake and I had to figure things out, one of us always knew what to do. But with this, we were both equally clueless.

As I slowly pushed the cart, aimlessly walking down the aisles, Jacob stared down at his cell phone. It was new—just two days old—and he didn't know how to use it. Jacob's big fingers slid across the screen clumsily. "I don't have any reception in this damn store," he muttered.

Looking around, I couldn't find anything helpful. Grocery stores should have had guide lists. "Then we'll wing it," I decided.

Jake stuffed his phone into the left pocket of his jeans, and I laughed when I looked down at the shape protruding in his pants.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Is that a tablet in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

He laughed loudly, throwing his head back, and then he looked back to me seriously. I scoffed in response. "That joke was lame," he told me. "Boners aren't supposed to look like iPads."

"Things would be a little fucked up if they did," I agreed. "At least I tried. Not everyone can be as funny as Michael Scott."

He stopped in place in the aisle. I turned to him. "What?"

"Did you just admit that Michael's funny?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said timidly. "He's kinda funny."

"No, no, no, he's gotta be more than that to you. Isn't he hilarious?"

"No, not really."

"You're lying."

"_You're_ pushing."

"Why would I push the lovely truth, milady?"

"Fine," I said, exhaling sharply. "He's hilarious."

Jacob pumped his fists in the air like a teenage boy at a raging rock concert. "Yes!" he exclaimed.

"Oh my God, stop," I said. "I mean, we're not the only people here."

He grinned widely. "And I don't care."

Shaking my head, I started to push the cart again. "_Charlie's_ especially going to care if we don't have food for Thanksgiving dinner," I said.

"Right," he agreed. "We're winging it."

* * *

We winged it, alright. Jacob and I left the grocery store with probably more groceries than we needed. Maybe it would even serve more than eight people. There was a variety of things to prepare, and that was just the easy part. Getting the items was no big deal; preparing them was the hard thing.

Collapsing onto the couch after putting the last disk of the second season of _The Office _in the DVD player, I told Jacob that he would have to teach me to cook.

He plopped onto the couch with my old copy of _The Count of Monte Cristo_ and told me that that would take too long.

"Then what are we going to do?" I asked him.

"We can pretend," he insisted. "I'll do the cooking and we'll say you did it."

"Pretending is good," I admitted.

"Pretending is great," he corrected. "Besides, more people would believe that _you_ know how to cook over _me_."

"Not my dad," I told him. "He knows I can't cook for shit."

"Then we'll prove him wrong."

"Whatever you say, Jake."

His eyes were down at the book, attentive and eager. I'd turned him into a bookworm of some sorts… I liked it.

Sinking into the depths of the crazy antics of office workers, I tuned in and let myself go.

* * *

I took the next day, Wednesday, off from work, but Jacob couldn't. I looked up recipes for various Thanksgiving foods, but the problem with Thanksgiving was that no family did things the same way. Nobody prepared food the exact same way as somebody else.

This all caused my stress levels to shoot up to the sky.

Jacob came home to find me on the balcony, and I had a pack of cigarettes with me. No lighter. Just cigarettes. I'd used to do this when I'd gotten stressed, back before the puking stuff took place. After I'd started puking, I had started smoking again, too. I had my fair share of issues rattling in my head. I would start one habit, end it, and then start new ones. This was healthier, though. This _had _to be healthier.

Wordless, Jake sat down next to me on the concrete steps leading to the balcony. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and didn't say anything back. Instead, I pulled a cigarette out from the pack and held one between my lips.

"Why do you smoke?" Jacob asked me.

I opened my eyes and stared at him. "I don't _light_ cigarettes anymore," I explained. "I just have them."

"Then why don't you light them?" he tested.

"I'm too much of a wimp."

"But you smoke weed."

"I don't smoke weed anymore," I said sharply, "and _weed_ doesn't kill you."

"So you do this to feel cool," he assumed.

"I do this to feel relaxed and… and young." I set the cigarette down on the floor, his eyes following it, and I shook my head. "Can't you see the art in this, Jake?" I asked. "Can't you see the poetry?"

"Reading Shakespeare does not make you at all artistic or poetic."

"Well, I think it does. You're going to read _Macbeth _next." I picked the cigarette back up. "Look at this," I said, holding it in his face.

"I'm looking at it."

"There are plenty of harmful things in this one cigarette right here."

"I passed middle school health," he reminded me.

"No, listen," I told him. "The harmful things only take effect when I light them, but I don't. I've got this stick of death hanging from my mouth when I'm stressed, but it doesn't hurt me. I'm pushing it to hurt me, but it can't."

"So what's the point again?"

"Power and control, dummy."

"_Power and control, power and control_," he sang in a ridiculous falsetto. "That's all you ever talk about."

"Sorry 'bout it," I replied, totally unapologetically. "I just don't appreciate what history has given me. Until you're a woman in the United States today, you shouldn't talk."

He laughed, and it startled me. "_Really?_" he asked. "_You're_ complaining about _sexism?_ Try being a Native American in the United States today. At least women have come a long way."

I blinked. "I think—"

"And you're a white woman," he pointed out simply. "You have things a little easier than others."

"I think we both have it pretty hard," I said.

"Not even. If something happened to you one of these days, like rape or something, it would be a nationwide issue and we'd be trying to 'take action'"—yes, he did use air quotations—"and all that crap, but if a little girl in an African country got raped, it would be ignored. It happens all the time. This country is just so messed up…" He slowly shook his head. "But we keep saying we're so 'ahead' of the pack."

"Are you done?" I asked. "The economy sucks. I've got it."

"Bella, all I'm saying is that you've got it pretty easy compared to me. They give minorities even less of a chance than they do women. Especially white women like you."

"We have a black president," I reminded him. "Didn't you watch the election?"

"Yeah, I watched it at home," he replied. "But I doubt _you've_ ever been denied a job because you're a woman."

"I've only had two steady jobs," I admitted.

"I was almost not hired at IHOP because of the color of my skin," he told me. "It sucks. Their ancestors took the country that initially belonged to mine, and they almost denied me a job. That sucks. Racism always sucks."

"Sexism sucks, too."

"Guess there's not much we can do there, huh?"

"Guess not." I stuck the cigarette back between my lips. "Sucks to suck."

* * *

The next day was Thanksgiving. By the time I was awake, I could smell the sweet aromas of an impending disaster (maybe?) with delicious foods, as well.

Sliding out of bed and putting on my robe, I timidly left my small bedroom and entered the living room and kitchen area, where Jacob was in the kitchen (as usual). He grinned at me. "Good morning."

I smiled back. I could _definitely_ get used to this. "Good morning. What time is everyone coming over?"

"Four," he replied. "So we've got a little time to get things extra-ready, unless Claire and Quil come earlier. Coffee?"

I entered the kitchen. "I'd love some."

He poured me a cup of black coffee, and as I poured two spoons of sugar in, I told him that in all honesty, I was really nervous.

"That makes two of us," he admitted, taking the box of Frosted Flakes from the top of the refrigerator.

"When was the last time you saw your dad, sister, and Paul?" I wondered.

He got out a bowl and started pouring cereal into it. "I saw my dad and Paul last Christmas, so it's been a while. I haven't seen Rachel since then, too. She just moved back to La Push then, she and Paul hooked up, and they've been together since then."

I took a sip of the coffee, burning my tongue, and swallowed. "Where did Rachel live before then?"

"Seattle. She went to U-Dub for college, and she didn't want to come back home."

"Sorry to sound stupid," I began, "but what is U-Dub?"

"Oh, the University of Washington." He gave a slight smile that I wouldn't have been proud to admit that was very sexy. "We just call it U-Dub around here."

I nodded. "Okay. How old is Rachel?"

"Twenty-four. I just don't know why she's dating Paul."

"How horrible is he?" I asked. "He can't be that bad, Jake."

"He's not a _bad_ person," Jacob admitted. "He can just say bad things. I've known him since we were kids, and he's only a year older than me. I can't see why he's dating a girl three years older than him, and _my_ sister, while he's at it."

"Oh. Well, is he an asshole?"

"You're gonna have to figure that out for yourself."

I made a face. "C'mon."

"Seriously, you're gonna have to see for yourself. _I_ might get his jokes, but _you_ might not."

I took another sip of my coffee. "I guess we'll see."

* * *

Half an hour later, I was about to have a breakdown. I sat in the middle of my bedroom floor and was two seconds to screaming my lungs out.

"Fuck!" I yelled. "Fuck this!"

"Fuck what?" Jacob yelled back from his room across the hall.

"Fuck my life."

"What, can you not find something to wear?"

"_Yeeees_," I whined.

"You're surrounded by clothes, aren't you?"

I looked around me. I really was surrounded by every article of clothing (and every shoe and other accessories) that I owned. "Yes," I called back.

"Just find something. I'm dressing myself today—I'm pretty sure you can dress yourself."

"I always dress myself."

"Then there's no difference today."

I exhaled sharply, got off my ass, and decided to search. I didn't know how I was supposed to look today… girly? Casual? I eventually decided on a simple (at least, for me), dress that fell just above the knees. It was a bit form-fitting, but comfortable, and it had a cinched waist, no sleeves, and a scooped neck. I probably hadn't worn the dress in a long time, if at all, because this one looked and felt new. It was pale pink with a subtle plaid pattern, and it was cute. Sweet and subtle, but cute.

I took my time in front of the mirror—because I was actually dressing up for something other than work—and I wasn't even halfway done with my makeup when Jacob came in.

"You take up a lot of space, you know," I told him as I stared in the mirror, making the last wave of my hair.

"I'm sorry," he said, staring in the mirror, messing with his own hair.

"You're not sorry."

A smile spread across his face. "You're right."

"You've never spent any time in front of the mirror before," I pointed out.

"Today is special for me. I actually have to look good, for once."

Picking up the brush for my foundation, I rolled my eyes. "You always look good, Jake," I told him. "That's just a fact."

"Why, thank you."

"And you do know how to dress yourself, after all," I observed, spreading the foundation across my cheeks at first. Jacob was wearing a smooth, red-and-white, plaid shirt with short-sleeves, most likely to showcase his amazing arms. He was also wearing dark-washed jeans that looked fine on him.

"I've been working on it," he said, still playing with his hair until it looked like it always did, spiked up with minimal gel. I wondered if he would ever grow out of his obsession with spiking his hair, but I wasn't sure if I wanted him to. He looked good.

Applying the rest of my makeup quicker than I usually would have, but still trying to be careful, I asked, "What, have you been practicing for your little girlfriend?"

"Nah, just for this really pretty chick who lives with me. Oh, and you, too."

Blushing, I laughed awkwardly. "I'd have to say she'd be pretty impressed," I admitted.

"You think so?"

"I know so. Only she wouldn't be too fond of you wearing plaid, too." I gestured to my dress. "I think one of us is going to have to change."

"Nuh-uh," Jake replied. "You always dress like that outside of work, and it took me a while to look this good."

"And what do you think I had to do?" I asked, still staring in the middle. I leaned closer to carefully perfect my eyeliner and mascara.

"I dunno," he said, "but maybe this is cool. We're matchers."

I smiled. "Cute, Jake. Very cute."

"Why do you dress so expensively, anyway?"

I shrugged. "My mom used to send get a lot of clothes whether I liked it or not, and I got used to it. That's all."

"Oh, shit," he suddenly said.

"What?"

"I forgot to shave."

I turned to him and ran my hand along his jaw. "You don't have to. I like the stubble."

"You do?"

I nodded. "It makes you look older."

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked.

"No, considering the fact that you're younger than me."

"Right."

"Right," I repeated.

"Well, I'm done," he said, taking one last look of himself. "You can have the mirror all to yourself."

"Thanks, Jake" I replied wryly.

"No problem, Bells."

_Bells._ Not _Bella_. Not _Isabella_. Just _Bells._

I liked the sound of that.

* * *

Four o'clock came early, it seemed, and soon enough, there was a knock on the door. I quickly got up to answer it, and the first person I saw was Charlie.

The funny thing about people you used to know was that you always picture them one way in your head, but the second you see them after a while, that picture dissolves.

My picture of my father certainly dissolved at this sight.

It wasn't like he was any taller or shorter. Hell, he'd even kept his mustache. That mustache had never changed. The only thing that had really changed was his face, and it broke me inside. More lines decorated his face, and he looked kind of confused, as well as other emotions.

But there was no disappointment. There was definitely no disappointment.

"Hi, Dad," I managed to squeak out.

Charlie moved out of the way so the other guests could enter, and Jacob greeted them all. I stood to the side with my dad, though. Waiting for an answer, I didn't move. I couldn't move. Neither could he.

After looking at me for a second, he finally said, "C'mere and give your old man a hug."

I hugged him like a little girl would at the end of the first day of kindergarten. Tears started welling up in my eyes, and I told myself to man up.

Then again, maybe I didn't have to. Maybe I deserved to let out three years' worth of tears.

Charlie hugged me and said quietly, "I missed you, Bells."

I missed him, too. I hadn't realized that I did until now.

* * *

Dinner was served soon, and I was warmly welcomed by Billy and Rachel Black; Paul Lahote; and Quil and Claire. Billy and Charlie tuned into the football game on TV; Paul, Quil, and Jacob caught up; and I talked with Rachel and Claire.

Rachel truly was Jacob's sister; she was so smart. Totally intellectual. Jacob hadn't gotten his lame jokes from her, though; Rachel's were actually funny. She and Claire knew each other beforehand (_of course, Bella; everyone here knows each other_), and we still all got along okay.

I was serving myself mashed potatoes when Jacob slowly slid behind me, trying to get to the stuffing. His hands brushed against my waist, and it made my heart flutter. "How're things going?" he asked me.

I smiled at him; it was impossible not to smile around him. "Fine," I replied. "Are you having fun?"

"I'm having a blast." He dumped two scoops of stuffing onto his plate. "The food looks good," he added. "Smells like a pro cooked it."

I snickered. "No one can touch my skills."

"I'll say. The cook needs an award for this."

I nodded. "Right."

He left the kitchen, and Claire and Rachel looked to me with sly smiles upon their faces. "He wasn't like that the last time we all hung out," Claire said.

"People change," I explained.

"How long have you known him?" Rachel asked.

This was his sister I was talking to. I wasn't sure what to say without sounding like an idiot. "A while," I replied.

"Has he proposed yet?" she asked bluntly.

_Well, shit._ I shook my head. I wanted to tell her that we weren't even officially dating, but what good would that do? I liked pretending (and so did Jacob), but I would end up making a mess of things by lying _that _much.

"Aww, damn," Claire remarked.

"Does Jacob propose a lot?" I asked.

Rachel shook her head. "Only once, with his last girlfriend. That didn't last very long, though."

I bit my lip, trying to hide my confusion. "Oh."

Rachel must have been able to see right through me, because she quickly told me, "Don't worry about it. It was nothing."

It must have been _something_, though…

…But I would just have to wait and see. I straightened up and fixed my plate of food. I was supposed to be the happy girlfriend today, and that was what I was going to do. I wasn't going to worry about it, and there would be no reason for me to worry, anyway. It wasn't like he belonged to me or anything.

I just wanted him to, and I wasn't afraid to admit it anymore.

Sitting so close to Jacob that our legs touched, we ate dinner and watched the game with the rest of the guests. We laughed, we lived, we talked… We were pretending, and we were victorious. I was the happy girlfriend today—the suburban, respectful, classy, housewife Barbie—and I portrayed my role perfectly. Nothing was wrong and there was nothing to worry about.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to pretend anymore, especially when we didn't have to. What was the point in pretending just to make ourselves look triumphant to others, when we truly were triumphant (at least, somehow) together, anyway?

A constant question vexed my brain for hours that day, and it wouldn't leave. _What does Jacob have to be afraid of?_

I suddenly found the answer, though: he was afraid of judgment and loneliness. It terrified him to a point that had him hiding things—like his previous engagement—from me.

Jacob Black was just as fearful as I was.

* * *

_**A/N: **And that was chapter nine! I'm having more fun writing this than I thought. I have this big, elaborate plan done and I'm so excited and I get so giddy, lol. I've got just about everything planned except for an ending! *facepalm* I'm striving, man._

_With so much love (because you guys are the best audience I could ever have),_

_MTL. xo_


	10. Chapter Ten

_**A/N: **__Hello, beautiful people. I'm back. BUT you should probably listen closely, because this chapter is structured differently. The rest of the story won't be like this, but I felt it would be better if it was told this way. This chapter—chapter ten (already!? I don't get it)—will be told in reverse. It starts on the Sunday after Thanksgiving, and the previous days get told in all backwards, ending in what happened on Thursday night. Bear with me? Okay, good. I promise it won't be that confusing… I hope. It's really just one collection of memories._

_Have I ever let you guys in on my writing playlist? Well, I will now. I listen to "Lana Del Ray AKA Lizzy Grant" by Lana Del Rey, and "Electra Heart" and "The Family Jewels" by Marina and the Diamonds. Give 'em a listen. This chapter was especially inspired by the song "Obsessions" by Marina. It gives me life._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

The art and poetry of not lighting cigarettes quickly dissolved. Maybe Jacob had been right; maybe none of it was artistic or poetic at all. There was nothing inventive about holding an end of a cigarette between my lips and not lighting it. It was just a waste.

As I stood on the balcony, I knew that I should have been asleep—the blue dawn was barely rising, after all—but I was positive of one thing and that was that sleep was not my friend.

Cigarettes were, though. They would soon become my best friends because the creativity of not smoking them had quickly come to a halt.

So, naturally, I retreated back into the apartment from the balcony to look for my old lighter. Rummaging in dresser drawer in my bedroom, I tried to not wake up the sleeping man in my bed that Sunday morning. No, he couldn't have even been considered a man. He was just last night's love affair. The love affair slept in my bed, looking as vulnerable as ever. That was how they always looked; even after not sleeping with anybody for months (yeah, I wasn't sure how I'd survived, either), I hadn't forgotten what things looked like the next morning.

I eventually found the lighter I'd been looking for, and I quickly went back to the balcony. It was like my new home since I no longer felt wanted in my real one.

Looking down at the rest of the lifeless apartment complex, I carefully lit the cigarette. I hadn't smoked a cigarette since I'd been nineteen. I'd decided that it was better the drop that than to drop weed.

_Stupid._

I hadn't known things would come to this, but I guessed that was what happened when two lonely people did senseless things.

I wasn't sure if today was going to be better than yesterday. It was hard to determine how the rest of today day—Sunday—would go based on how stagnant it started. I took a long drag of the cigarette and tried to wrap my head around the last couple of days…

* * *

"Are we together?" I'd asked yesterday—Saturday. It had been a simple question. I hadn't asked it with feeling. If I had wanted to express my feelings, they would have torn through my chest because I'd been so mad. I could totally admit to myself that I did, in fact, have feelings for Jacob, but I couldn't have let him know now.

Jacob had looked at me with those lovely, unraveling eyes and gave a slight nod, only it hadn't matched his words. "Are we?" he'd asked.

I'd wanted to punch him.

I'd never wanted to punch Jacob until then, because he _just hadn't understood._

He hadn't allowed himself to see what had been right in front of him, and he still wasn't. He didn't know the first thing about being open, and it was like television had taught him how to feel, and that was nothing. He naturally let himself feel nothing towards other. Of course, I was the same way. We were more alike in ways that I couldn't believe… but maybe he was just a little too much like me.

I'd _really_ wanted to punch him, though. Instead, I hadn't. I had just mumbled, "I don't know" and left.

I had eventually come home with a guy. I'd given in to the kindness of strangers before all of this; Jacob hadn't been the only example.

I couldn't have been bothered to know what Jacob had thought of me as he'd laid alone in bed, just across the hall.

* * *

Things around the apartment had been even quieter—conversation-wise—on Friday. Jacob had been gone all day, I hadn't been able to imagine why. It had been Black Friday and everything, but he'd had nobody to shop for and nobody to impress.

Or maybe I'd been wrong; I wouldn't have known since he'd never liked to open up to me.

Jacob had been gone all day, the air had grown colder, and I'd needed the warmth. I hadn't expected Quil to come over with Jake gone, and I hadn't expected him to be there for _me_. I hadn't even expected Claire to be at work.

I certainly hadn't expected to sleep with him, but there wasn't such a bad thing as giving in to the kindness of strangers was there? It had all been just too convenient.

My time with Quil had been quick. It had been easy and not bad, but a little uncomfortable. We could have gotten done in the amount of time that was my lunch break. He'd arrived at ten in the morning and gone back home fifteen minutes later. Quil hadn't been very different from the other men I'd been with, and the strange—or was it really?—thing was that he'd reminded me of Garrett, and he still did.

No, Quil hadn't moved like Garrett. He hadn't lit my joint like Garrett, either. Quil was nothing like Garrett and he would never be like him. They were each their own person, but their similarities bugged me, and they wouldn't stop. The nasty thoughts tainted my mind even more.

Quil hadn't been like Garrett at all, but he'd liked me, just like Garrett had. Quil had liked me—or the idea of being with me at least once—and he had liked quick, one-morning stands. He had also been too good for me. Too good and too similar. The worst part, though, was that both Quil and Garrett had girlfriends. They both had dedicated, beautiful, caring girlfriends that were left in the dark, all because their boyfriends slept with me.

I was a homewrecker in Forks _and_ Everett, and that wasn't anything to be proud of. It hadn't made me feel powerful or feministic or strong. It had made me feel guilty, and it still did.

However (plot twist), Jacob had brought home a girl that night. He'd turned the tables. As I—in my fresh, clean, untainted form—had watched as nothing more than a shadow, I'd finally figured Jacob out. It had become totally clear to me then.

Jacob had been into the same games as I had. _Of course._ I'd watched enviously as he'd brought home a stick-thin ginger into his bedroom and locked the door. Even as I'd known that she most likely hadn't been his type, Jacob had only done this to get back at me for some crime. Had Quil told Jake? I hadn't known—and I still didn't—but I'd been broken. As I'd listened to the sounds of new, temporary lovers, I hadn't seen the cleverness, all because I was totally selfish. Jacob's getting back at me hadn't made me see my own faults; it had made me cry.

It had all ended almost as soon as it had started. Before I'd known it, the ginger girl had left the apartment with barely a word to Jacob. She'd been like the Quil counterpart to Jacob's imitation test. I'd known it was a test all along when Jacob had sat in his bedroom alone. I'd cracked open the door of my own bedroom just so I could see out of it as much as I'd need to. Jake had been sitting on the corner of his bed in only his boxers, staring right at me. _I'm sorry_, he'd mouthed.

I hadn't been strong enough to admit that I'd been sorry, too.

* * *

It was funny how quickly things had shifted in so little time. I'd been perfectly fine with Quil on Thanksgiving and every other day before Black Friday. There had been zero sexual attraction in me making small-talk with him and occasionally purchasing a taco. Jacob had changed between Thanksgiving and Black Friday, too. He'd barely even touched me before Black Friday, but just the next day he'd brought home the skinny ginger.

Things had been okay on Thanksgiving, though. At least, when the guests had been there.

Still confused and angry over the whole engagement secret being blown by his sister, the second that everyone had left, I'd asked Jacob if we could talk about his previous engagement. I'd just wanted answers and honesty.

Who would have thought that I hadn't received any, and especially from Jacob? Not me.

"Don't worry about it," he'd told me. He'd sounded just like Rachel, telling me that. It hadn't been my job to worry, but it was now.

"No," I'd said. "_No,_ Jacob."

He'd moved from the living room to the kitchen easily, and he'd started cleaning up everything. He hadn't said anything to me.

"Don't be so pathetic," I'd told him. "Just open up."

"How much more open could I even be?" he'd asked, getting out various containers to store Thanksgiving leftovers for the next ten years.

"Jake," I'd said sternly. "If I was ever previously engaged, I would have told you."

His eyes had been boring into mine. "Bella, you don't—"

"I get it _perfectly_!" I'd exclaimed. "You're afraid, Jacob. You're just as afraid as I am, but the difference between us is that _you_ never tell me what makes you strong and what makes you weak."

He'd shaken his head at me. "Did you read that in one of your books or something?"

"Did _you_ turn this way because of your TV shows or something?" I had dared.

"That doesn't have to do with anything."

"Jacob, you lied to me." The tears had started burning into my eyes. "That's not fair."

"I didn't lie to you," he'd outright told me. It had been a total lie. "I can't lie about something I never even said."

"Well, you hid things from me. What happened to letting people in? What happened to not be a fucking robot? It's really hypocritical, Jake. I mean, you made _me_ open up and things got a little better, but you can't do that for yourself."

"I think you're confused," he'd said, dumping more food into a plastic container. "I'm just fine. And besides, we _always_ hide and we _always_ pretend."

My next words had come out only as choked sobs. If I'd blinked, I'd have exploded. "That's only for other people."

Still more silence from Jacob.

I'd had to make my last point. "You don't have to pretend for me."

He hadn't said anything else to me; he'd only continued scooping and packing, packing and scooping. Instinctively, I'd flipped over the container he'd been putting together. Its contents—either turkey or stuffing, since I hadn't been able to really tell with the tears clouding my vision—had spilled onto the floor and his shirt.

"Go on and try to _hide_ that," I'd told him. "It's what you do best."

I'd always known that we'd (_the fucking Lonely Hearts Club_) be heading for a meltdown of some sorts. I'd just never thought it would happen so soon.

* * *

I nearly burned my fingers on the butt of the cigarette. "Fuck," I muttered, dropping it clumsily. I squatted down, smushed it against the pavement of the balcony, and sighed as I got back up. No wonder I'd stopped smoking cigarettes; I'd never been good at it.

The late-November air bit, and it bit _hard_. It was time to go back inside before I literally froze my ass off in my thin camisole and shorts.

Last night's love affair was waiting for me, after all. I could feel the vulnerability from all the way out here.

Then again, perhaps it was just my own vulnerability that was so overwhelming. As if anyone would notice, anyway.

* * *

_**A/N: **And that was the tenth chapter. It was really a series of vignettes, but the next couple chapters won't be. Now, what'd you think? And omg. I'm already three quarters done with my promise of four chapters before the 18th and I still have 11 days left. I think I'll be pushing my deal of four chapters the six instead, and trust me, you will very much so enjoy chapter thirteen. ;D_

_But seriously. What did you guys think? I meant to not include the Bella and Quil bit, but then it popped up and... welp. So, anyway, yeah. That was that. I can't wait to share the next few chapters. I'll be writing like a crazy woman._

_Stay rad (yeah, I do use that word; everyone makes fun of me for it),_

_MTL. xoxo_


	11. Chapter Eleven

_**A/N:**_ _*unattractive groaning* Spring break is over and the utter irrelevance that is geometry has hit me hard. Like, really, who gives a crap about triangles!? They're just stupid triangles! Ugh. High school sucks. (For those who are out of it already, how did you even deal!?) Anyway, I'm busier again, but I am still going to deliver you this chapter (and two more) before I hit the Golden State for a couple of days. Once I get back, I'll still be trying to get these chapters out quickly. We'll see…_

_I know this sounds weird, but I'm kinda proud of the reactions I got from my readers. I mean, I don't like making people cry, but bringing emotions out of people makes me feel like I've accomplished something. I don't want to just be prolific and bring out chapter after chapter; I want to make my readers feel something, too. I'm glad I did that for the last chapter._

_Now, this chapter—chapter eleven—is for all of y'all. I promise, things will get better. *sticks out pinkie* Enjoy._

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

The first time I ever saw Jacob Black cry—or at least show a little emotion—was the next Wednesday night. He'd just gotten off the phone, and his eyes were red, as if he was about to cry or had just ended.

I entered the living room to retrieve my copy of _The Great Gatsby_ that I'd left lying around, and I hadn't meant to find Jacob. He hung up the telephone and looked up at me. His face made me want to cry.

"What's going on?" I quietly asked.

"Harry Clearwater—I mean, this guy I know…" Jake took a deep breath. "He died."

"Oh my God," I breathed. My fingers gripped my paperback novel tightly. "Jake, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he quickly said.

"How close were you with him?" I inquired, not moving an inch.

Jacob looked up at me and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "He was like an uncle to me. Kinda. Coulda been my…" His words trailed off.

"He could've been your what?" I prompted.

"Nothing. Nevermind." He sighed. "The funeral's on Friday."

I was silent. What did he expect me to do? Beg on my knees to accompany him? Then again, Jacob wasn't Edward; he was nothing like him. Jacob wasn't cruel enough to do that. He was hard to get through to, nearly impossible to deny (because I knew that deep down, he was a good person that just needed to open up), and mildly OCD-ish, but he wasn't Edward. Jake wasn't a mean person at all, and maybe I was crazy for admitting this, but I loved him. There. I loved Jacob Black. Easy enough.

I still said nothing, though. I just waited on his own words to determine my faith.

"Will you go with me?" he asked sullenly.

I bit my lip and continued to stare at him from across the room. "You're asking me out on another date?"

His expression didn't change. "I guess I am."

I nodded. "Alright."

"Alright," he repeated.

* * *

Trying to keep things at a somewhat normal mood, I visited Quil the next day before I went to my own. If I could be good at pretending, then so could he.

Or so I thought.

As I approached the taco stand, Quil looked like he had a lot on his mind.

"Hey," I greeted him. He looked up at me without a word.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Nothing much. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing today," I replied. "Can we-?"

"Sorry, Bella," he said with a sigh, "but I don't think we should see each other anymore."

I narrowed my eyes. "Give me a second," I said. I took a deep breath and stared at him. "We were never 'seeing' each other to begin with."

"Well, then maybe we need to stop talking to each other."

I blinked.

"Look, Bella, I... I've got my own problems. You're just trouble. I should've known the moment you walked in."

"If I'm trouble, then why did you bother? Quil, it takes two to tango."

"I don't know, okay? But I'm done. I'm done with this and I'm done with you. I hope you're not coming to Harry Clearwater's funeral."

"Well, I am," I assured him. "I'm going with Jake."

Quil's eyes widened. "Did you tell him?"

"Did you?"

"No."

"Then that's a no from me."

"Don't tell him, Bella. It'll kill him."

"It's not like he likes me," I replied. I was positive about that. "And I'm not an idiot. Why the hell would I do that?"

"I don't know, I just-" His expression changed into a happier one. "Hey, Claire!"

I turned around to see Claire-Quil's faithful, loving girlfriend-walking towards us.

Once she got to the taco stand, she greeted me and asked if she could talk to Quil alone. Quil gave me the Death Glare, and I promptly left. He was on his own, and I could only pray that Claire didn't find out, which she probably didn't... She hadn't looked mad at _me_, after all. I had plenty of things to worry about now, and Claire wasn't one of them.

* * *

The following Friday was Harry Clearwater's funeral, and Claire and Quil didn't ride with Jake and I. Quil hadn't gone to work on Thursday, so I couldn't have asked how things had gone with Claire, and I didn't want to go into their apartment and risk suspicion.

I guessed Claire and Quil's relationship wasn't my problem anymore.

One of the main problems I had now was tall, tan, and smart. He was also nervous and lovable and vulnerable and kind of helpless and _totally, completely brilliant_ all at the same time. The main problem was driving us across Washington state in his old Volkswagen Rabbit, and he was barely saying a word to me.

With the radio cranked up, we held out on the long drive to the coast. I hadn't been to La Push since I'd been eighteen or so, and I wasn't particularly excited to go again-especially to a funeral-but Jacob needed the support. Maybe I truly did mean something to him. He hadn't asked Quil to go with him. Nope. Not even Quil. He'd asked _me_. Call me an optimist, but that had to have meant something. The subtle symbolism really got to me.

Also having to do with symbolism, I eventually figured out-over the course of the event-that funerals truly were for the living, rather than the dead. I'd never been to a funeral before, so I couldn't have really felt the same emotions, but watching as an outsider was... surreal. Jacob let his emotions out in the presence of what I presumed to be his family, in some ways or another.

I met Rachel, Paul, Billy, and my father again, and I also met some new people. I wondered how desperate Jacob had been to get out of the reservation; with all these people who probably wanted him to stay, I couldn't imagine why he'd wanted to leave.

Okay, so that wasn't true. Not at all. I knew Jacob now. As much as I probably annoyed him and was a burden, I did know him. And I was perfectly aware that Jacob had wanted to leave the reservation because he hadn't wanted to rot there. He'd never been much of a big talker of his past life, and neither had I, but when he had mentioned it, he'd only mentioned the bad things, like how much he'd wanted to go away. He couldn't have pushed away the reservation from him, so instead, he'd pushed himself away from the reservation. I couldn't see it, though. If I hadn't felt so shitty at home, I would have stayed. _Oh, man, _I would have stayed forever. From what it looked like, Jacob had been loved, and he still was. At the funeral, nobody was accusing him of denying them or their culture or whatever (but had they?). It didn't look like that at all. It looked more like they were welcoming him back-_thanking_ him, in a way-even if it was just for a little while.

I wished I could understand the importance of family.

Jacob introduced me as his friend for this event, and that was when I knew I wasn't supposed to be as close. It was like a public way to let me know that even as it was instinctive, I didn't have to hold his hand. I didn't have to touch him or even smile at him. I was just his pretty friend in a black dress and heels. I didn't even have to look like I knew him.

Maybe he didn't want me to know him.

After the funeral service, Jacob had left my side to talk to someone. I hung around with my dad, and things were already better since Thanksgiving. Charlie lacked in the portrayal of emotions just as much as I did, so there wasn't much we could do there.

At some point, I scanned the church, looking for Jacob. And of course, I found him. He was talking to a girl who was only a head shorter than him but still taller than me. She looked just about my age, too, but I could have been wrong. She had shiny, dark, chin-length hair and she wore a black dress that went just above the knees with black heels. She looked good. I assumed she was Jake's cousin or something.

I couldn't pretend like I hadn't gone here with Jacob, though. So I smiled and waved at him. Then I walked over to him and his cousin like nothing was wrong.

Jacob and his cousin each gave me a look. The cousin sneered, and Jacob looked like he almost felt _bad_ for me... Was he supposed to?

So maybe I was a random white girl from out of the blue. So maybe I was more dressed up than anybody here. So maybe I didn't know the person who died.

Jacob-the only person that I had-was supposed to be there for me, and he looked at me as a disgrace. An embarrassment.

The smile faded from my face. My dress felt even shorter and my heels felt even higher. I was the wrong person at the wrong place. Just like always.

"Are you dating her?" the girl with Jacob asked quietly. It was still loud enough for me to hear; it could have been as loud as an airplane taking off for all I felt.

Jacob gave me a look, almost like that look he'd given me when he'd been sorry for taking home a girl last Friday. He appeared just as sorry now.

He turned to the girl next to him, though, and just shook his head. "No."

* * *

_Stupid._

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

I was stupid for trying to pretend that everything was fine and dandy in the world of Jacob and Bella, and I was even more stupid for ignoring the blatant, obvious truth right in front of my face. On the ride home, it hit me like a fucking sack of rocks.

The girl-the girl that Jake had been talking with and outright humiliated me in front of-was his last girlfriend. She was the girl he had been engaged to. The image I'd never seen played out the window; every couple we drove past on the way to the ferry station looked like Jacob and the girl. Even when I closed my eyes to try to escape it all, the images of Jacob getting down on one knee (_no, no, no, Jake's really smart, so he probably did something really creative_) and smiling at the girl like the planet spun just for her and asking her to marry him and-

_Stupid._

She and Jacob never got married. Of course not. He'd probably broken it off; I just couldn't imagine anybody denying him.

I couldn't admit that I wasn't jealous, though.

Wasn't it obvious? I was jealous. Pretty much any woman would have wanted Jacob; he was smart and he knew how to cook and clean and he had great taste in television shows and he had a nice place. Jacob also had a load of other flaws, but the best perks outshined the worst of the flaws. Jacob was just... him. I couldn't have asked for anything else.

Aside from the part that I wanted him to be mine.

So maybe that was a little selfish; it wasn't like I wanted him to be _all_ mine, so accessible that he could just be in my pocket and I could have him forever. I wasn't just a "little" selfish, anyway; I was very selfish. I didn't want Jacob to be mine; I just didn't want him to be with anyone else.

I didn't believe in true love; people like me just couldn't find it. But at the same time, I couldn't see Jacob with anybody, in love. He was too good for that... too smart for that. He went at his own pace, and in that way, he was almost as selfish as me. That was where the similarities ended, though. Jacob was all about keeping himself happy; I was all about making others happy without thinking of myself first. And of course, I wanted Jake to be happy. That was all I wanted. I just couldn't imagine him happy with anyone else. He was as lonely as I was, and selfishly, I didn't want to change that.

But maybe he needed a woman to make him happy.

I didn't talk to Jacob on the drive back to Everett. No way. I couldn't take it. Everything in his intensity was blaming me, though, whereas I had done nothing. I wouldn't have cared if he'd wanted to stay back with his friends and family, but the second the funeral had ended, it had been back to the road because "we were in a hurry" and "Bella had to be somewhere." We weren't even in a hurry, and I had nowhere to be.

He knew that I was hurt, though. Beyond hurt. Whatever heart I'd received over the months of being around Jacob had shattered into a thousand fragments. However, he tried to mend it. He tried to use fast food as the inevitable glue for my heart, and it didn't work. I couldn't be bought with Dick's, and that was that. So instead of passing through, we just went straight home.

It wasn't fair. None of it. Jacob wasn't supposed to be a heartbreaker-this had been the plot twist of the month. I shouldn't have been surprised that Jake had been engaged and it hadn't worked out; that explained his anti-women attitude he'd possessed since I'd moved in with him, and more likely before then, too. Jacob being engaged wasn't a huge surprise to me now. What was a huge surprise was the fact that I was so hurt by it. It had never been my job to be heartbroken. It had never been my job to even have emotions.

It had never been Jacob's job to change things, and if hadn't known before, then he definitely knew now that change was _not_ good for me.

* * *

_**A/N: **And that, my lovelies, was chapter eleven. I'm writing like a crazy woman to get chapters twelve and thirteen up, and those chapters are significantly better in plot than this one, in my humble opinion. However, my trust Microsoft Word program IS BEING A DOOFUS. It's not working. Like, at all. And the worst thing is, that shit does wonders for me. Without its spell check, I go INSANE. And now I don't have a spell check. Welp. I'm wingin' it with Google Docs. Its spell check is okay, but... it's just not cutting it. Anyway, I'll be going hard. This update took forever because this week seems to be lasting (and having the activities of) five years. Gah._

_See you next time,_

_MTL. xoxo_


	12. Chapter Twelve

_**A/N: **__Hey, you guys. Thanks so much for the thoughts on the last chapter, but here's an even bigger thank you for enduring this. I know it's not all happy and I know you guys want Jake and Bells to be happy, but I swear, they will get there. Happiness takes time. :) Here is chapter twelve._

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

I managed to hold out for a week; I went to work, read books, and mainly stayed out of Jacob's way, trying to pretend things were normal. Pretending was a double-edged sword, though: when it was good, it was _great_; when it was bad, it was _terrible_. There was no halfway point.

That being said, that week without really interacting with Jacob was hard. Of course it was; I loved him. I loved him, I loved him, I loved him. I wasn't sure what love was, exactly, but I'd read and watched it before, and I knew that people weren't supposed to avoid the people they loved. Was I _in_ love with Jacob? I didn't know. I did know that I loved him, however, and that was all that mattered.

Once the week had passed, I decided that because I loved him, I had to be able to talk to him. So after work the next Friday, I ordered a pizza and sat next to Jacob on the couch. It was like we were back to square one; I did the awkward middle school thing where I pressed my hand down between us in case he wanted to hold it, but he didn't touch me. He just sat back, arms crossed, and watched the television attentively.

At the commercial break, though, I took the remote and muted the television. He looked at me, and he didn't even look annoyed. "Yes?" he asked.

It was time to be straightforward. "Tell me about her."

He sighed and turned to me because he knew exactly who I was talking about. "It's a long story."

I shrugged. "I've got loads of time."

"So where do you want me to start?"

_Damn_.

It was almost a bit hard to believe; Jacob was being open. He was being open and looking at me straight in the eyes and looking so honest and beautiful...

"From the beginning is fine," I decided.

He sighed again. "Guess this is one secret I can't keep forever. So, the girl at the funeral was Leah Clearwater."

"Harry's daughter?"

"Yes," he clarified.

"Oh. So you were keeping her a huge secret."

"I can't be the only one with secrets," he said. "Don't tell me you've never had any."

"I've never been _engaged_," I replied, "and I never tried to hide it. That's different, Jacob, and you hid that from me."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, his hands out in front of him. "Who said I was engaged?"

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Rachel said -"

"Rachel said I _proposed_, which I did," he simplified. "Not that I was engaged, which I wasn't."

I shook my head. "Could you just give it to me straight?"

"See, the thing is," he began, "I proposed to Leah, but she didn't accept-Wait, no." He groaned. "Lemme start from the beginning. So I grew up with her, yada, yada, yada, we started dating when we were nineteen, things got serious, and I proposed. I was so ready to settle down and everything. I even got this apartment for us. It was gonna be a surprised. But when I proposed, do you know what she said?"

"No?" I guessed.

"She said no!" he claimed animatedly. "She said no to me, and it's not like I'm a stalker or anything, but I was pissed."

"Aww, I'm sorry," I told him.

"I am, too."

"And that's it?" I asked.

"Basically. All of my secrets are out of the bag. Now it's your turn, Bella."

"Why do you want to know any of _my_ secrets?" I inquired.

"You know mine."

It was easy to see his motives now; I could see right through him most of the time. I took a deep breath, and finally admitted, "I got pregnant."

His eyes widened and his mouth agape, he looked genuinely shocked. "Oh, God, Bella. God, no, you didn't."

Catching on to what he was assuming, I quickly shook my head. "No!" I said. "I mean. Well. I _was_ pregnant, but that was a long time ago."

Jacob blinked. "So where's the kid now?"

I took a bit just to think on this. "...Heaven?" I concluded.

"Aww, man. Why'd you get rid of it?"

"I was younger," I replied, "and way dumber. I couldn't have a kid. I was only eighteen."

"Oh."

"I guess that's the difference between us," I murmured wryly. "You're ready to spring into real life and family and shit like that. I'm not."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I guess so."

"But..."

"But...?" he prompted.

"But why did you seem so... embarrassed of me in front of Leah?"

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"She asked if we were dating," I recalled, "and you said no. I know it's not true, but why? Is it because I'm white? Was I dressed wrong or something? Was it something I said? Are you ashamed of me or something? Was -"

"Bella, no," he said, his voice as honest and sweet as cinnamon.

"Then what is it?"

"I care too much."

I was pretty sure my heart had either stopped or it was beating so hard that I couldn't even feel it.

"It's because..." he continued. "Because if I did say we're together, Leah would've said something rude. She's never been afraid to call things as she sees it, and it's kinda bitchy, but that's her. I just didn't want to give her the opportunity to say anything bad about you, but I fucked up. I'm sorry. I just..."

"You care too much," I reminded him with a small smile.

Our hands hovered closer together, and I took his like nothing was wrong. For the first time ever, I was sure that things weren't wrong. Not at all.

Lacing our hands together, he smiled at me. I could have melted with that million dollar smile, but I could have melted happily.

"I care too much," he repeated.

* * *

The next few weeks weren't very special. The sporadic hand-holding hadn't occurred any other times, and I was pretty sure it was because Jacob didn't know how to make his move and I was scared of coming on too strong.

We were like fucking kids.

So we stuck to our books and television shows. Over breakfast, we would debate over the psychological goodness of the character Dexter Morgan. He would call me at lunch - everyday at twelve-fifteen and nothing else - and would challenge me to a read-off. Over dinners (which I slowly learned how to prepare myself), we would have heated discussions on the motives of various _Walking Dead_ characters or how funny or not funny _The Office_ was without Steve Carell. Jacob and I were nerdy - okay, _really_ nerdy - but at least we were nerdy together.

It just wasn't like I didn't want to go further.

However, time went on. The weather got colder, the heaters were on all the time, and work was progressively getting easier to handle but not much more enjoyable. Before I knew it, Christmas arrived.

Sometime in early December, I'd discovered that Jacob didn't have a Christmas tree of his own, so I'd told him I'd buy him one. I had eventually purchased a fake four-foot-tall Christmas tree that he could keep forever (along with ornaments and household decorations), but I hadn't really had gifts to place under them. Procrastinating (and procrastinating _hard_) I went out to buy gifts for him on Christmas Eve. There were gifts for me under the tree (I'd felt them and was pretty positive one was a sweater because Jake hadn't thought of putting it in a box), and I felt guilty for not getting him anything.

Shopping at the mall on Christmas Eve was really strange.

This wasn't like shopping on any other day for gifts; this was different. Everybody had the same mindset: _buy, buy, buy_. There were the over-enthusiastic parents, being really careful but really speedy to buy that one last gift. And then there were the major procrastinators like myself, swiping everything in sight.

I'd been saving some money, and I had enough for a few gifts, but shopping for Jacob was hard. Men were simple creatures, but not simple to buy for. I didn't want to get him anything too kid-like, but I didn't want to get him a boring sweater, and I was definitely not going to get him anything immensely inappropriate, even if both of our minds were. I could have gotten him a nice beer mug, but he didn't drink-period. I could have gotten him a barbeque set, but the weather was never nice enough to barbeque-ever. There were only a trillion things I could get him but wouldn't really work for a while. _Fuck. _Halfway through my trip, I was about to start praying that things would end up okay.

My prayers had been answered at some point, because I wound up finding a neat comic store with a bunch of merchandise and novelty crap from _The Walking Dead_. Jacob wasn't a fanboy, but he was going to appreciate the things I got him. I even got him a board game on the TV show; I knew he'd kick my ass at it, but the gift would still make him happy. I was determined to make this a very merry Christmas. I felt cheesy, but this was the time of the year to be cheesy, anyway.

After buying gift wrap and wrapping everything up in the truck, I made my way back home, and was greeted by the aromas of dinner. Jacob greeted me and helped me with my two bags. "Huh," he said, "I wonder what these are for."

"So do I," I replied, playing along. "Maybe they're for Quil and Claire."

"Looks like I'll have to take them instead," Jake said. "They went to La Push for the holidays."

"You never told me they left."

"Quil never told you at work?"

"Nope."

"Well, maybe it wasn't important."

_He's not your problem_, I reminded myself. _Quil is not your problem anymore._

After placing Jacob's wrapped presents under the tree, I changed the subject by asking what was for dinner. It was chicken fettuccine. As I shrugged out of my jacket and placed it with my purse on the couch, Jacob set a plate of food down on the table for me.

"I got started kinda early," he told me.

I sat down at the table. "'S'alright." I took a bite of the noodles and asked how his day was.

"It was great," he said, still standing in the kitchen. His face looked discouraged.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Don't laugh, but I can't bake anything to save my life."

Only because he told me not to, I laughed. "Why are you baking?" I asked.

"I'm just trying to be festive," he admitted. "Get into the holiday spirit."

"I should've picked up a couple of ugly sweaters," I said. "My bad."

"It's okay," he replied. "We'll make it all up in carolling tomorrow."

I laughed again. "What are you trying to bake, anyway?" I wondered.

"Cookies. Chocolate chip and peppermint."

"Wow. I used to bake those all the time."

"And you're letting me know this now?"

I took a big bite of the dinner, chewed, and swallowed. "No," I replied. "I mean, yes. When I was a kid, the only times my mom and I got to really hang out as mother and daughter was during Christmas. We baked cookies all the time."

"And after all this time of knowing how to cook, I never learned how to bake." He chuckled. "Well, shit, at least I tried."

"Are you making the cookies by scratch?" I wondered.

"No. I have this package thing."

"Jake, just preheat the oven."

"It's already preheated."

"Okay, now open the package of cookie dough."

"Got it."

"Make little balls and put them on a pan with foil on it. That's all you have to do."

"But..." He shook his head in dismay. "But how big do the balls have to be?"

"Well, how big do you want the cookies to be?" I asked.

"I don't know."

"When you figure it out, let me know."

"Wow, thanks."

"No problem."

* * *

Jacob and I watched various Christmas specials of _The Office_ tonight, just to prepare ourselves for the cheesy movies that would come tomorrow. I snuggled into his warm body, and laughed until my sides hurt. There was nothing wrong with being lonely on the holidays as long as I had someone just as lonely.

Maybe we weren't even lonely anymore. There wasn't a problem in the world with that.

Late at night, I couldn't sleep. Jacob had already gone to bed, but I still struggled to lose focus and empty my mind. I was acting like a little kid on Christmas Eve even though I had a good idea of what I would be receiving. However, I eventually came to the conclusion that I was too damn cold.

So maybe I was a little crazy for sneaking into Jake's room that late. Maybe I was a little crazy for climbing into his big, inviting bed. Maybe I was a little crazy for putting myself in his arms. So what?

He had to have been crazier for tightening his arm around my waist. Stroking my fingers against the back of his hand, I knew that we were crazy. We were crazy and shy and nerdy and undoubtedly the best relationship I'd been in, but maybe things were supposed to be this way.

I didn't want to pretend anymore.

* * *

Jacob was gone when I woke up. _Sigh_... The whole waking-up-in-Jake's-arms fantasy would have to remain a fantasy. The bed was uncomfortably cool, but I stretched my limbs and yawned. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, and I rubbed my eyes. _God, why did I even do that? I'm so fucking weird._

The distinct scents of bacon and coffee - just like every morning - filled the apartment, and I padded off to its source. Seeing Jacob cooking for me-okay, for _us_-never got old. Really, it never did. Seeing him smile at me like I was his favorite person in the world never got old, either. _I could get used to this_, I thought.

"Merry Christmas," I greeted him. It truly did feel like Christmas; the decorations seemed brighter, everything smelled better, and both Jacob and I were happier. The only thing missing was a blanket of snow outside, but it never snowed on time in Washington. I could expect a load of snow to be dumped on us in February.

"Merry Christmas," he replied. "How'd you sleep?"

Feeling myself blushing, I gulped. "Pretty good. I was warm, for once. You?"

He kept his cool. "Good," he answered. "Great, really. Maybe you should sleep with me more often."

I started laughing, but then tried covering it with a feigned fit of coughs.

"I mean," he said, trying to rephrase what he'd just said. "You can come-"

I burst into a fit of giggles, and he laughed with me. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just feeling immature today."

"Right. Well, I didn't mean sleeping as in, uh... sex. I meant it as in... what's the word...?"

"Spooning," I finished.

"Yeah. Spooning."

"Haven't you heard, though?" I asked. "'Spooning leads to forking. Use condiments.'"

He cracked up laughing. "Did you come up with that yourself?"

"Nah, you caught me red-handed. I didn't make it up."

"Aw, damn." He turned to the clock on the oven behind him. "Crap," he muttered.

"What is it?"

"I gotta do something real quick. Help yourself to some breakfast, ya know, all that regular stuff." He took off his apron and headed for the doorway, where he slipped his shoes on.

"Where are you going?" I wondered, making my way to the kitchen to get a plate from the dishwasher.

"Somewhere." He winked at me as he put his leather jacket on.

"Alright," I said.

"Alright."

He left, and I wondered just what I was supposed to do with that man.

* * *

Jacob came back soon enough, and he told me he was lucky enough to come back when I was in the bathroom. I still didn't know what he was doing, but it was time to open up the presents. Sitting in the living room floor with my cup of coffee on the table and the man I loved next to me, I excitedly picked a present from under the tree marked _Jacob_ on the front.

Jake shook the medium-sized box, and once he finally unwrapped it, his face was so happy I could have sworn that he was going to explode.

"_Walking Dead_ bobbleheads," he proclaimed, smiling cutely. "You shouldn't have."

"Oh, I had to," I replied. He handed me a gift - the one that I was positive was a sweater - and I opened it. When I saw that it truly was a sweater, I pretended to be surprised.

"I hope it fits," Jake said.

I held the soft, lavender sweater up to my chest. It was probably a size too small, but I didn't want to let him know that. "It's perfect," I replied.

After opening the gifts, Jacob told me there was "just one special gift" left for me. He went into the kitchen and told me to close my eyes. I did as told and waited for him to bring me whatever he had.

Right as he told me to open my eyes, I heard soft meowing, and when I opened my eyes, I saw Jacob sitting in front of me with a tiny gray kitten in his arms.

I squealed louder than I should have. "You remembered!"

Jake nodded. "'Course I did."

You see, this wasn't just some ordinary kitten. No. This was the kitten I'd always wanted but never had. A while ago, Jacob had asked me if I'd ever had pets. I'd never been able to, though. Because my mother had been (and still was) a control freak, she'd never allowed any pets that didn't belong in water. I'd had an aquarium as a child - it had been pretty big, too. My fish had always died, though. I hadn't known what I'd been doing wrong, but my fish had kept passing away, one by one. Once my mother had been sick of all the mini funerals I'd held in the bathroom, she'd given up on the aquarium. I'd asked for a kitten on my birthdays and for Christmases only a thousand times, but no. Still ignored. I'd told this story to Jacob, and he'd thought it was one of the saddest things he'd ever heard.

And he'd decided to give me a kitten for Christmas because he'd remembered. _Jacob had remembered._ I was twenty-one, and I finally had the kitten I'd wanted since I'd been seven years old. An adorable, gray kitten who already had me pulled into its spell. It was all because Jacob had remembered.

"You're the best, Jake," I told him. "Seriously. You are."

"I had to adopt him," he replied.

Because I had nothing else to say - and actions spoke louder than words - I hugged Jacob. I hugged him not as tight as I normally would because the kitten was between us, but I did it.

"Thank you, Jake."

"Merry Christmas, Bells."

I sat back, and he carefully put the kitten in my arms. "What's his name?" I asked.

"I dunno," Jacob replied. "It's all on you. When I adopted him, I decided that it's probably best if you name him, since he's your cat. Do you have any ideas?"

I smiled. "I think I'll name him Caderousse."

"Cat-a-what?"

"_Caderousse_," I clarified. "Like the character from _The Count of Monte Cristo._"

"Oh. That's cute."

"I know." I stroked Caderousse's soft fur. "How old is he?"

"Nine weeks."

"Awww," I cooed. I held Caderousse up to me. "You're just a little baby," I told him. "You're gonna love it here."

"I also got food and a book and stuff," Jake informed me. "It's all in the car. We should see a vet soon, though."

"You really got the whole package," I replied. "You're awesome, Jake. You're the best. And you know what?"

"What?"

"This isn't just my kitten, okay? It's ours. _Our_ home, _our_ kitten."

Jacob nodded. "That sounds about right."

Then Caderousse scratched me. "Ouch," I hissed.

"That's all your kitten," Jacob accused jokingly.

I rolled my eyes. "Ha, ha. You've got jokes."

"You know you can't deny them."

"Sure, sure, Jake. Thanks, though. And merry Christmas. Love you." I kept accidentally telling him that and I swore to God I was going to kick myself for doing it _again_.

"Merry Christmas," he replied. "Love you."

Maybe it wasn't an accident, after all.

* * *

New Year's Eve came along, and it was then that I realized I really didn't have a life outside of work, books, and television. It's like TV had taught me how to feel, leaving no appeal to real life.

At ten o'clock that night, I poured myself another glass of wine.

"Don't we have somewhere to be tonight?" I called to Jacob, who sat in the living room, playing with Caderousse.

"You tell me," he replied.

"I just feel like a loser," I said. "We're little hermits, never leaving our homes."

"Home is a good place to be," he countered.

"I guess," I agreed.

I went into the living room with my glass and sat on the couch. After taking a sip, I asked Jacob if Quil and Claire were doing anything tonight.

"They're still not in town," he replied.

"Really?" I asked.

"Yeah. Apparently, they're still in La Push."

"You make it sound like you don't believe them," I accused.

"To be honest, I don't. They've been secretive since Thanksgiving. I don't get it."

I bit the inside of my cheek. "Me neither. I guess people change."

"I bet Claire changed him," Jacob said. "He used to be fun."

"Well, they did what they did," I quickly said. "They're happy together, from what it looks like. Besides, who are we to talk about their relationship?"

"Fine. It's not our problem."

"Exactly."

Jacob put on a movie, and when there were only two minutes left until two thousand thirteen was going to begin. I had a bad feeling about that number, for some strange reason.

Jake and I did the countdown, and Caderousse sat between us on the couch. Once the New Year's ball dropped and it was officially two thousand thirteen, I wasn't sure what to do, and neither was Jake. Things got awkward, so I decided to finally do something at one point. I held Caderousse in my hands, between us, and we both kissed him on either cheek.

"He's so damn furry," Jake said.

I laughed. "He is."

"Happy New Year, Bells."

"Here's to learning how to cook," I toasted.

"And to being open-minded."

"And happiness."

"And hope."

* * *

_**A/N: **And there's chapter twelve! I had fun writing it. Now I've got just one chapter left to write to you before I go on my trip. After that, I'll probably just be booking it. I've got a plot going on, and this is such a fun story to write. It's different from most other things I've written. Now, what did you guys think? Was it cute? Cheesy? Obnoxious? Let me know._

_Stay cute,_

_MTL. xoxo_


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_**A/N: **__Hey, guys! This will be the last chapter before I take off to Cali. Maybe I should be busting out these chapters like this way more often._

_Thanks for the feedback for the last chapter. It was cheesy, but at least you guys liked it. Hopefully this chapter is less cheesy, haha. If so, then... welp. It's weird writing something that's not angst; I need to work on writing happier but not so happy to a point of grossness. There's always room for improvement, though, I guess. That's my motto. And now that I think of it, that's kind of the motto of the story, too..._

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Oh my God, they didn't."

"They did."

"Is this a joke?"

"Nope."

"Give it to me."

Jacob handed me the photograph he held in his hand, and I couldn't believe it. In the photo was a very happy couple, and that was Quil and Claire. Claire wore a white wedding dress, Quil wore a suit, and they looked ecstatic. The photo was taken from a distance, so someone else must have been in on it.

"I guess I _can_ believe it," I admitted, still staring down at the picture. "Quil can be pretty random."

"So can Claire," Jacob added. "Check this out." He handed me the handwritten letter that had accompanied the photo in the mail, and I read it. It was a letter from Claire, saying how they had gone through a tough time with each other and decided to elope in Las Vegas on New Year's Eve. They weren't going to come back, though; they were going to live in Vegas until further notice. The last sentence in the letter was especially for me: _Thank you, Bella._

Quil had told her.

"What are they thanking you for?" Jacob wondered.

"I..." I hesitated. "I don't know, I guess." However, I did know. I certainly knew I'd ran them off, but when I looked at things from a different side, maybe I saved them? I didn't know, and I didn't want to; they weren't my problem.

Jacob didn't look like he believed me, though. With a sudden raise of an eyebrow, he nodded slowly. "Alright."

"Today isn't about me, though," I quickly said. "It's your birthday."

A grin as wide as the sky appeared on Jake's face, and I knew he was proud of that. The day was January fourteenth, and it was his birthday. I didn't exactly have anything in mind planned for the day, but I knew that his twenty-first birthday was going to be shitloads better than mine. It already was - we already had the bills paid, for one thing.

"And how would you like to treat me today?" Jacob asked, his smile still big.

I shrugged. "What do you wanna do?"

"I'd like to not cook, for one thing."

"Ugh," I groaned. "You make it sound like I'm treating you as a maid or something."

"It feels that way, to be honest."

"Oh. Well, not tonight. Do you trust my cooking skills yet?"

He didn't say anything, and we cracked up at the same time.

"Fine," I said once I was finished laughing. "I still can't cook. I can take care of an animal, but I can't cook. We'll order a pizza tonight. My treat. Do you wanna watch a movie?"

"At the theater?" he offered.

"I'd prefer if I didn't have to go back there, but if you say so..."

He shook his head. "Nah, it's fine."

I exhaled sharply. "You can't be nice to me all the time, Jake," I told him. "Make up your mind."

He made a face at me for a second, but then it disappeared. "Alright," he decided. "We're getting a pizza and watching _American Horror Story._"

"Then it's a date?"

"It's a date."

* * *

We'd had our little date (which couldn't have been considered a _real_ date since it was basically what we did every night, anyway) on Jacob's birthday, but something changed, along with the weather.

On the night before Valentine's Day, it snowed, and it was still snowing now. When I woke up this morning, I looked out my window to see huge snowflakes catapulting from the sky like rockets.

_Good God._

Yeah, I'd lived in Washington since I'd been seventeen. It was like I'd grown up (or had I really?) here. That didn't mean I was used to the snow, and that certainly didn't mean I had to like it.

"It's a Valentine's Day miracle," Jacob had told me that morning. I'd shaken my head and proceeded to feed Caderousse. Jake and I had decided that that name was a bit of a mouthful, so we merely referred to him as Roussy. Hopefully we weren't bringing the _Count of Monte Cristo_ character to shame by doing that.

I was allowed to skip work today; Jacob wasn't. It was Thursday, and he'd gone to work at the garage. I couldn't see why he had to go, though; would anybody be coming in?

At around noon, Jacob called me. He always called me now. In my mind - and maybe even his - I was his little sweetheart, his honey, and he treated me like it. In my mind, he liked to call to check in. In my mind, he liked to spend time with me.

This would be leaving my mind tonight.

Somewhere in the middle of our telephone conversation, Jacob asked me out on a date. I swear, he could really make me feel like a high schooler. I suddenly had the emotions of a giggly little fifteen-year-old. The funny thing with Jacob, though, was that he didn't care. He really didn't care that we were twenty-one. We didn't _have_ to act like regular twenty-one-year-olds. We didn't _have_ to be totally responsible or have bright and buzzing careers. We didn't _have_ to stop indulging in fiction because of the demanding real world. We didn't _have_ to do anything at all. Jacob didn't push. He didn't have expectations of me, or of us. He knew how to let things go. I'd grown up being pushed to be this perfect image, only to become it (or the opposite, somehow). Jacob didn't do that, though.

That was what I loved the most about him.

We didn't push our date tonight. I didn't get dressed up at all, especially considering how we weren't even going to leave the house. There was too much ice on the roads, and we had everything we needed here, anyway. Today was Valentine's Day, but that didn't mean anything. With Jacob and I, the days weren't that special, because nearly every day was pretty damn good. I never expected miracles on regular days, and I especially wouldn't today.

I decided to count tonight as Real Date Number One. It was all in the mood. I was pretty sure Jacob could be romantic if he wanted to (he'd _proposed_, for fuck's sake), but I'd been wondering how he interpreted that. I'd eventually figured it out, though: it was the mood. This was a candles-lit-with-soft-romantic-music-playing-in-th e-background kind of mood.

Jacob cooked dinner, and once he was finished, he approached me with a bouquet of pink roses. I was pretty sure my face turned as pink as the flowers.

"I didn't wanna be too Valentine's Day cliché," he explained, sitting down in the chair across from me. "But I wanted to keep it kinda traditional, so I got pink roses instead of red ones. I hope you like pink."

"Aww," I replied. "You're cute."

He adjusted his tie and smiled. "Well, shit, at least I tried."

"Dammit," I muttered.

"What?"

"You're all dressed up, but I'm sitting here in sweatpants. I feel kinda gross."

"C'mon, honey, don't feel gross."

"Was this all in your plan?" I asked.

"To make you feel gross?" he replied confusedly.

I shook my head. "No, to call me 'honey?' To pull that Jacob Black charm and expect me to..." I batted my eyelashes and playfully rubbed my foot against his, under the table. "Swoon?"

He bit his lip and smiled again. "I didn't know what I do is a charm."

I snickered. "Sure, you didn't."

He laughed. "Seriously, though, you don't have to feel bad for not dressing up. You're still pretty."

"You're, like, one of the few people who's seen me without makeup," I informed him. "That means you're special."

"Good," he replied. "I wanna be special."

"Aggressive much?"

"Nah, it's not even that. I just..." He sighed. "I just feel like I wanna be more than this, you know?"

I didn't need him to explain; he didn't have to. "I do know," I said.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

We ate dinner in mostly silence, and eventually retreated back to the living room to watch TV. It was like our safe haven. The couch was our own little island of paradise.

It was snowing outside, only little flurries sprinkled through the sky. Nothing too crazy. My eyes were more focused on the snow - even as Caderousse seemed to be pining for my attention - and Jacob must have noticed.

"It's like a Valentine's Day miracle or something," he murmured.

"You said that this morning," I reminded him.

He shrugged, staring out the window now. "Doesn't mean anything."

"Guess not."

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

"Seriously, Bella."

"Alright, shoot."

"If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?"

"You know I won't laugh."

"Even if it's dumb?" he asked warily.

"Even if it's dumb," I clarified. "You're always telling me to get to my point; I think it's time you get to yours."

"Okay, okay..." He took a deep breath. "I've liked you for a _really_ long time."

_Huh. _"You haven't even known me for a really long time," I remarked.

"No, I mean back when we were kids. Like, when we were seventeen and eighteen. I thought you were cute."

"And then I became a mess," I sneered. "I know."

"Bella, you're still cute. In fact, no. You're not."

"What are you even saying?"

"You're not cute anymore, Bells," he stated. "You're beautiful, and you can call me an idiot, because I really don't know what love is, but I love you. Alright? I said it."

You know that feeling you get when you're at the top of a rollercoaster and you suddenly hurl down to the earth? Like gravity has taken over everything? Like you're never going to stop at the ground and just keep going because it's just so damn _endless?_

Yeah, that was my heart, plummeting straight to my stomach.

Or maybe that wasn't just my heart; it had to have been everything I'd ever known about Jacob or us together or the little idea of love that I knew, or had known. I wasn't sure what I knew now.

Okay, maybe I was wrong there; I did know one thing.

I felt the same way.

"Oh, Jake," I mumbled, moving closer to him.

There were only a few things I could do now, and I knew I had to choose wisely. I must have lost my brain for a second, though, because maybe my next choice wasn't so wise.

I put my hands in Jacob's hair and gave him a serious look. He looked alarm for a moment until I smiled up at him, and he smiled back.

Slowly but surely, I put my lips up to his. It started out slow and awkward and middle school-ish... and then we grew up. It was like a symbol - a metaphor - for us. Maybe I was progressively becoming a poet, whether Jacob agreed or not.

Anyway, we grew up with the kiss. I opened my mouth to invite his tongue, and we played around, not taking it too seriously. I could feel how nervous Jacob was, though, once I laid back down onto the couch, my legs parted. He followed me, putting his body against mine, his hands at my hips, and I felt just how hard his heart was pounding in his chest. It felt just like mine. The ragged, syncopated beats of lonely, terrified souls kept the pace, because we sure weren't.

Jacob moaned against my lips, and that sent a thousand tiny ripples of pleasure through my body. I couldn't help but moan in response and hitch my leg around his waist.

"You okay?" he panted.

"Not even," I breathed. "I'm fucking perfect."

I didn't know what we were together anymore. Were we still the nerdy, boring, plain "Jake 'n' Bells" situation? Would we be able to return to our normality after this? I didn't know. It was almost like we were strangers again. New ones. The funny thing about all of this was that I didn't mind. I really didn't. I was willing to bend now, and that was perfectly okay. I could bend as much as I needed to because it was worth it. Meeting Jacob again - only differently - was totally worth it, because he was worth it, too.

_Time to give in to the kindness of strangers._

* * *

_**A/N: **__I told you guys I'd get six chapters up! Haha, that was fun. Now, I'll be going to the Golden State, and I'm perfectly content because I know I did everything I had to do, including entertaining you guys. But was this actually entertaining? What do you guys think? I'm always, always, ALWAYS curious. So free your mind!_

_With much, much, much love,_

_MTL. xo_


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_**A/N: **__Hey, guys! I'm back, my pigment is a bit darker, and I miss California so much, but I've also missed writing. As of now, I've got three WIPs going for me (this, Flirting With the Monsters, and the brand-new Vindictive Temptation), which is sort of tricky, but I think I have a plan. I'll try to finish Kinda Outta Luck as quick as I can because it's only twenty-three or so chapters long. Then I'll go hard at Vindictive Temptation - that'll take a while. Flirting With the Monsters is sort of my "update whenever" story; it's not very big._

_Now that I'm a little organized, here it is. I hope you guys enjoyed the last chapter of this! It was strange for me to write, but here we go..._

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

Jacob and I were almost brand-new strangers, but it was almost like - at some point - he took a step back. No matter how hard I tried, I would never fully understand that man.

He wasn't like other guys I'd know. He was too complex, too much, too introverted... but at the same time, I didn't want to understand him. He was too much and too little at the same time.

Jacob wasn't just good-looking. No. He was much more than that. He was a piece of art, but not a painting of a bowl of fruit just so anyone could go, "Hey, that's a bowl of fruit." Nope. Not even that. Jacob was an abstract, difficult piece of art. He was the kind of piece of art - and it didn't even have to be a painting, at that - that you had to look at for a while, but not for too long or your eyes would start to hurt. And then you'd finally leave it only to reset your mind and come back to discover just a tiny piece of the big picture. I never really completely figured Jacob out, and I didn't want to. He wasn't like that, and I was glad. Living with him, I discovered that I didn't need to settle for what was in front of me. I didn't need the obvious. Thinking where I'd never thought before was the key. I'd definitely learned a lot with Jacob. I'd never even learned this much at school for thirteen years.

But that step back that Jacob took... that one little step might as well could have been the world's biggest leap for him. Jacob was having trouble at work. IHOP, to be exact. Now, that wasn't so bad. Of course not. He never expressed to me how bad it was, but it had to have been pretty bad. I comforted him nonetheless - what else was I to do?

The bad part, however, was something else. Jacob had gotten fired from IHOP. One bland Saturday in early March, with barely any warning, he'd been fired. The end. He'd called me back when I was at the house still to tell me, and he'd been so upset. I'd continued to comfort him, but the hardest and most unfair part of the entire situation was that I'd been promoted at the theater at that exact same day. I'd gone from a lousy cleaner and concessions worker to the ticket booth. I was even being paid more.

I hadn't expected Jacob to be all "let's throw a party!" the day I'd been promoted and he'd been fired, but I hadn't expected him to be so down. I'd assured him, though. I couldn't _not_ assure him; it just wasn't questionable. He'd done only so much assuring for me, so it was past time to return the favor.

Nuzzled on the couch like always, and with Caderousse right between us (with time, he'd decided for himself that he was slightly above Jacob and I in the household), I stroked Jacob's hands.

"It's gonna be better," I told him.

He shook his head and didn't even look at me. "C'mon, Bells, don't tell me all that crap."

"It's _not_ crap," I replied sharply.

"You know what happens when people say things'll get better?" he asked. "Nothing. Nothing gets better. I was just fired, Bells."

"I really don't know why it's such a big deal, though," I said.

He gave me a look, like I was an absolute idiot who didn't know what I was talking about.

"No, not like that," I quickly corrected myself. "I mean, you have two other jobs. It's not like we're going to be homeless in a week. I still have a job, too."

"Yeah, I know." He sighed. "I'm off my game."

"Do you think it's because of...?" I hesitated.

"Us?"

I nodded. "Yeah. That."

"No, not at all," he said. "I did get in a little late last week but I'd say it was pretty worth it." He smiled devilishly.

I giggled and felt myself blushing at the same time. I blushed way more often these days, but I didn't mind. It made me feel young again, but that wasn't really the point - it made me feel _free. _I hadn't felt like this since I'd been seventeen. How perfect that age really had been only hit me just a while ago.

"And your boss didn't say anything about your hickeys, right?" I asked.

"Nope. All she said was to not get in late again, and I didn't. And now... Ugh."

"I know," I said softly. "I know."

I started to lay upon Jacob until I noticed Caderousse was in the way. "Move it, Roussy," I told him. "Let me have a minute with him." The cat - who was the laziest creature I'd ever known - didn't move, so I had to forcefully remove him from the couch. He hissed at me.

"Rude," I muttered. I couldn't doubt he was thinking the same thing about me.

I snuggled up to Jacob. "At least there's the bright side," I said.

"And what would that be?" he wondered.

"With Saturdays off," I began quietly and sensually, "we'll have a lot more time."

A small smile appeared upon his face. "For?"

I put my lips to his throat. "You know just what."

As I kissed him tenderly, he groaned. I would have done just about anything just to hear that little groan. In fact, no. I would have done just about anything for _him_. Feeling him next to me - the hardness of his muscles (amongst other hard things) to the beat of his heart to everything in between - never got old. It was exhilarating and relaxing at the same time.

Jacob started to tug my sweater at the shoulder, and he put his warm, soft lips right there, not moving anywhere else. Another thing I'd learned about him was that he was thorough, but he took his time. He liked to kiss me almost everywhere but the lips; he could really be a tease if he wanted to. He totally knew what he wanted.

He also knew when to stop, much to my discouragement.

"Let's go to Forks," he quickly suggested.

"Wow, cold shower, much?" I asked, looking at him.

"I... Let's not do this now."

"I'm never gonna understand your restraint, Jacob," I told him. "You sure you're a twenty-one-year-old guy?"

"It hasn't even been a month since we started dating," he reminded me. "And I don't tap everyone I meet."

"No need to make things personal, but alright."

"Oh, and by the way... 'Rousse is about to jump on you in two seconds."

I turned, and there was Caderousse, sitting on the arm of the couch, just about to pounce. "I swear, he hates me," I said, discouraged.

"Cats hate everyone," Jake simplified. "Why did you ever want one in the first place?"

"Cats are clean," I replied. "They keep themselves clean and you don't have to walk them. It's so easy."

"Whatever."

"What were you saying about Forks again?" I asked, readjusting my sweater.

"I think we should visit."

"What for?"

"Uh, your dad lives there, Bells."

I made a face. "I'm not convinced he really likes talking to me anymore."

"Don't you remember Thanksgiving?" he asked. "Things were okay."

"I guess, but..."

"But what?" he prompted.

The reminder of a man I once knew from Forks danced at the back of my mind for a minute, but I pushed it away. I smiled at Jacob. "Nothing," I said. "Nothing at all."

* * *

That same week, on Friday, Jacob and I were ready to embark on our journey to Forks. Caderousse was being cat-sat by Carmen. Jake and I would be visiting Charlie and Billy, and even as sporadic as it sounded, they were totally fine with it.

This drive to Forks would be better; it would be different. We weren't going to a funeral this time, which helped a lot. Jacob wasn't mad at me and I wasn't mad at him. Only this time, this pit of fear and loathing hung around in my stomach. Last time, Jacob had had somebody to hide. It was now my turn. I was praying that we wouldn't run into Edward.

I put my bag into the trunk of the Rabbit, and I turned to Jacob, who hadn't gone into the car yet.

"Well, how do I look?" I asked. I stood pretty and prideful in my lavender dress and pale pink heels. It wasn't very warm out, but I hadn't been able to drop this. There was nothing wrong in looking good, anyway.

He leaned against the back of the truck and crossed his arms, looking at me up and down. He had this smoldering expression that made me melt on the inside. "You look like the shoes hurt like a bitch," he said bluntly. "Why do you wear heels all the time, anyway?"

Nobody ever asked me why I wore heels outside of work (and I did see more than just Jacob out of work). Nobody ever really cared about how I felt here, and they especially hadn't back at Shady Pointe. I could have been in all the pain in the world, and as long as I didn't say anything, nobody would notice.

Nobody except Jacob, but he wasn't like the rest, anyway.

I played it cool and shrugged my shoulders. "I wear heels all the time because they look good."

"If they put you through pain, then they're horrid."

Sure, I could have told him to shut up. I could have told him to shut up and let me wear my heels because I hadn't in s_o damn long_ and that I was actually doing him a favor. I could have done a lot of things. As much as he knew me, he still didn't get my aversion to other shoes for some reason.

Instead, I nodded. "Wait here," I said. Then I quickly ran into the apartment and frantically searched for a better pair of shoes. I eventually found a faded pair of blue Converse. I slipped out of my heels and unapologetically sighed in relief to actually feel the soles of my feet on the carpet. Then I slipped on the sneakers and ran back outside. Jake was still there.

"Better?" I asked.

He shook his head and slipped off his leather jacket, exposing all of his pale blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, just the way he liked it. He handed me the jacket and I put it on. "You looked a little cold," he told me. "Now you're perfect."

I pursed my lips. "You're spoiling me."

"Hey, I distinctly remember you telling me all you ever wanted was the world."

I shook my head and smiled at him. My heart raced, but I felt somewhat at ease at the same time. This was okay. I was okay. _We_ were okay.

Maybe I didn't have to settle for perfection all along.

* * *

Blasting songs from the previous decade (or two) and singing obnoxiously loud, Jacob and I trekked across the Puget Sound to Forks. Upon entering, I realized that I hadn't really missed the town. It was too small - only with a little over thirty-five hundred people - and too green. Not promising and definitely not loud. Everett wasn't too loud, but it was loud enough to be inspiring, in some ways. Forks lacked inspiration. It was just... there.

_No wonder why I rotted away._

Sure, it was a cute town. It was really cute. It wasn't for me, though. I could admit that perfectly well. White girls from small towns weren't supposed to dream big, and I didn't know exactly what I was dreaming of, but I couldn't find it in Forks.

Pulling up to the driveway of Charlie's house, Jacob gave my hand a squeeze.

"You seem more nervous than I am," I observed. "It's just a weekend."

"You're right. I don't know why I'm so nervous, though."

"Hiding any more girls?"

He gave me a look.

"Kidding," I added. "C'mon, Jake, it's just a weekend. Alright?"

"Alright," he agreed.

I smiled. "Alright."

* * *

_**A/N: **__I was going to add just a little more... but that didn't work out. But it's leading up, right? Right!? Hm. What did you guys think? I know it was short... and pretty uneventful... but I got some emotions in, right!? Gah. Nerves. I'll be updating soon. :)_

_Thanks again,_

_MTL. xo_


	15. Chapter Fifteen

_**A/N: **__Hi, guys! Thanks for the feedback for the last chapter. Now I present… chapter fifteen! I had fun writing this one. I think it's one of my top three favorite chapters I've written so far. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

"Get in here, you crazy kids!"

_And the cheese parade marches on…._

I was barely through Charlie's front door before his little excitement façade came in. I smiled sheepishly at my father as I pulled my bag into the house. Jacob followed behind me with his own bag, and I was almost positive that it weighed only half as much as mine did. I envied him for being such a minimalist when it came to packing.

"Hey, Dad," I greeted Charlie.

"Set that bag down and give me a hug," he said enthusiastically.

I put my bag where I was sure to not bang my foot against it and gave Charlie a big hug. This got a little easier every time, and I was glad. In fact, I wasn't even glad—I was ecstatic. How many people were lucky enough to reconnect with their parents after not speaking for years? Not very many. I was one of the lucky ones.

"Whoa, did you get shorter or something?" he remarked once he let me go. "How much coffee have you been drinking?"

I smiled and shook my head. "None," I replied. "I'm just not wearing heels today."

Charlie took a look at my Converse shoes and chuckled. "I haven't seen you in sneakers in forever."

"Me neither," I answered honestly.

"Dammit, Charlie, you could've told me they were here instead of running out there like a little kid," a voice muttered. I turned to see Billy Black wheeling to us in the living room.

"Hey, Billy!" I said, bending down to give him a hug.

"Hey, Bella," he replied. Then he narrowed his eyes. "Did you get shorter?"

I laughed. "Nah."

I turned back to Charlie to see Jacob hugging him, and I couldn't help but sigh on the inside. Jacob was such a family guy—he knew how to get along with just about anybody. I felt a smile spread across my face, and I knew I looked like an idiot standing there with that smile on my face, but I wouldn't have minded looking like the biggest idiot in the world. I loved Jacob. I adored him, and I couldn't leave him alone. I didn't want to.

Jacob went on to greet his own father, and Charlie asked how the drive was. Jake gave me a slight look and smile. Then he replied, "It was alright."

I agreed, and I also wondered why Jacob used that word so much. It was _our_ word, in a way, but considering the books we'd read, we could have had a better vocabulary.

"_Alright" is just fine_, a tiny voice in the back of my mind assured me. _"Alright" is perfect._

I couldn't protest.

* * *

Half an hour later, we were all sitting in the living room, catching up. We were all laughing and talking and drinking. Jacob must have finally appreciated that he was now of the legal age to drink. After finishing my first bottle of beer, I decided to give Jacob a tour of the upstairs part of the house. Even if we wouldn't be spending much time here, I did want him to see everything.

"And what is this for?" Jacob wondered as we went up the stairs. I held his large hand as I led him to the unknown.

"I don't know," I replied honestly. "I just want you to see the whole house, even though it's small."

I took him to my bedroom door, dramatically swung it open, and stepped in. In a way, it was like a surprise for me, too…

…But not really.

The room hadn't been touched—at all. I'd moved out just a week after my eighteenth birthday, and I blatantly remembered refusing to clean anything after getting all of my things out. I hadn't swept the floor or even closed the window. The room had held over three years' worth of cold air, and it was being released just now.

It was like I was standing in a ghost's room.

"Damn," Jacob said, finally stepping into the room after me. "It's freezing in here."

I crossed the small area to the window so I could shut it. At first, it wouldn't budge, but I eventually got it to slide down. "I don't know why I was expecting more," I murmured.

"There's nothing in here," he observed. "It's like you erased your past."

I was silent—all I could do was look at him.

"I know… That was dumb," he said in his own defense.

"No it wasn't," I protested. "It's true."

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. I could see his breath in the air—it was that cold. "This is kinda creepy," he said.

"It is," I agreed.

He looked down at his watch. "We should probably be on our way to the hotel," he suggested. "It's almost time to check in."

I grabbed his hand. "Let's go."

* * *

Charlie offered Jacob and I the couch, and Billy offered his own couch as well, but Jacob and I were ultimately going to be staying at a small hotel in downtown Forks. And as surprising (but not really) as it was, downtown Forks looked like the rest of the town.

The hotel was small, but overall very nice. Really cute, too. Once we got to our room to leave our things, I really admired how intricate the decorations were. Each little painting and photograph and piece of furniture had to have been picked out delicately. The little room that Jacob and I would be sharing felt special.

Jacob and I lingered in the room for a while. He fell back onto the king-sized bed, and I couldn't help but shrug off my—meaning, his—leather jacket and fall with him. As he lay onto his back and I was on my side, I felt slightly cheesy, but I felt happy. Cheesiness and happiness went together hand-in-hand, though.

I brushed back a few strands of my hair out of my face and behind my ear as I looked down at Jacob. _God_, he was fucking beautiful. From his liquid brown eyes with flecks of gold in them to his large yet perfect nose to his full lips, he was gorgeous. He was divine. He was Jacob Black.

"I feel like a honeymooner," I told him.

He laughed. "So do I," he replied. "This is kinda nice, though. It's like a vacation."

"I know. It's so quiet. I've gotta admit I miss Roussy already, though."

"Ha, I don't," he said bluntly.

"Why not?"

"The damn cat's always getting in the way of things."

I giggled. "He likes you better than he likes me."

"But I like _you_ way better than he does."

I licked my lips without really meaning to. "Do you think we have time to be honeymooners for a second?" I asked.

"Well, that depends on what you have in mind."

"We should break this bed in the right way."

He didn't even think about it for longer than a second. "Alright."

"Alright?"

"Alright."

I slid down a little so I could be on top, and I put my lips down on his. This was how it always started… slow and sweet and soft. Jacob moved back against the pillows, though, just so he could sit up and look at me. I loved when he looked at me. Even when my nerves were just about to take over, that one look would bring me back home. It worked every single time.

Our faces were just inches apart. I opened my eyes and looked at him. I really looked at him; tried to peer down into his soul. Jacob didn't have that certain look in his eyes, though. I could see how he wasn't sure about this, and I was almost positive he could see the same thing in my eyes. Suddenly, we were seventeen again. We were awkward kids not knowing what to do, only driven by the facts that we knew each other and we loved each other.

I didn't say anything, though.

Instead, I kissed him again and laced my left hand fingers with his right ones, exactly at my waist. I could feel my dress about to rip, with my legs wrapped around his waist, so I slowly pulled it up with my right hand, not moving my lips.

Jacob gave me that little groaning noise, and that didn't put me in any more control. He moved his lips away from mine and put them at my neck—he knew just what I liked. He then slowly snaked his left hand to the skirt of my dress, pulling it up more. His fingers lingered around the elastic waistband of my panties. My breathing hitched and my eyes rolled back in my head a little when he pulled down on my underwear and—

_Buzzzzz! Buzzzzz!_

"Your boner's never buzzed before," I muttered sourly.

"Fuck," he mumbled, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. I got off of him and moved further down the bed. I wiped the smeared lip gloss from the edges of my lips and sighed.

Jacob cleared his throat and answered the phone. "Uh, hello? Oh, hey, Dad. Sorry, I was just being lazy, I know I have caller ID… No I'm not breathing hard. What are you talking about? …Oh, you guys are waiting for us? …Oh, right. Right, right, right. Sorry, we just started unpacking and got busy and—"

He was cut off. With a raise of his eyebrow, Jacob said, "Wow." I cocked my head to the side.

He continued his conversation. "So we're going back to Charlie's place? …Okay, thanks, Dad. See you soon." He hung up and set his phone down.

"I don't recall making plans to go back," I said. "What was _that_ all about?"

"They were gonna wait for us so we could get dinner," he replied. "He made kind of a big deal out of it, though. I'm pretty sure he just wanted to make sure we weren't fucking."

"Well, shit," I commented.

"I know."

"We had better get going," I said. "I mean, Charlie's gonna embarrass me about it, anyway, I bet, but we shouldn't keep them waiting. What's the time?"

"Five-thirty."

I sighed. "Yeah, we really need to get going."

We got off the bed, and Jacob flattened out his shirt and pants. He looked like he hadn't even been touched. I, on the other hand, looked ridiculous. Standing in front of the full-length mirror on the door of the bathroom, I readjusted my panties—which I really felt the need to change—and smoothed out my dress. On our way out, I almost forgot about Jacob's jacket, which I quickly retrieved from the floor and promptly slipped back on.

"There's always tonight," Jacob reminded me.

I nodded, desperate to hide the nerves and a recurring thought in the back of my mind.

_What if I'm not ready for that step yet?_

* * *

We managed to get through the rest of the evening with minimal teasing. Over pepperoni-and-mushroom pizza at the dining room table, more catching up was in order, but that ended quickly. Everything future-wise started making its way into the conversation until it hogged up all the attention.

"Are you guys engaged yet?" Charlie wondered.

I turned to Jake, and I could feel myself blushing. He looked genuinely uncomfortable—even more so than me.

"We haven't been really thinking about it," Jacob replied. He always knew just what to say.

Fortunately, Billy saved us from further embarrassment. "Jeez, Charlie," he said. "Give 'em a break. They just got here."

"My bad, my bad," Charlie said. "Sorry. I'm starting to turn into your mom, Bells."

I rolled my eyes. "Please, no."

"Oh, and speaking of your mom…" He stood up and made his way to the door to the garage. "I'll be right back. I've got some stuff for you."

Charlie had _never_ been this full of surprises—Jesus, maybe he _was_ turning into my mother. I chewed my food in silence and waited.

He came back soon enough with a cardboard box that was covered in dust. "What's this?" I asked.

"Your grandma's been sending you letters, Bells," he explained. "Marie—your mom's mom—was sending them for years, but at some point she stopped. Really weird. Anyway, Renee's been keeping them from you, but she just sent them to me last week so I could give them to you. I was gonna wait for you to come here so I could give them to you, so I did."

I paused completely. "Gran's been sending me letters?" I finally managed to squeak out.

He had a slight look of guilt on his face. "We've been… uh… sending them back and forth for a while now. She's been writing both your mom _and_ me. Mostly me, though. And I've been writing your mom, too."

I scooted out of my chair and walked over to him. _He's gotta be kidding._

"Calm down, Bells," he told me. "You can read 'em tonight."

I knew there was no way he'd let me have them now, so I would have to wait. I was eager to get back to the hotel, but not in the way that Jacob was.

* * *

The second I stepped into the hotel room that night, I untied my sneakers and chucked them off my feet. Throwing the cardboard box onto the bed, I sat down excitedly. It didn't show on my face, though.

"Whoa, what's up?" Jacob asked me. "You look pissed."

"I haven't talked to Gran in _years_," I replied. "I haven't talked to her since I moved up here when I was seventeen."

"Wait, so your mom and dad have been _hiding_ these letters from you?" he asked.

"That's what it sounds like."

I ripped open the ends of clear tape on the box and opened the cardboard flaps to find three stacks of letters sitting there. Jacob sat down across from me on the bed.

"What the fuck?" I whispered.

I took out all the letters and fanned them out in front of me. Plenty of years' worth of interactions from my grandmother was in front of me, and I was just discovering this now.

I figured out that there were little dates scratched on the backs of the letters, and once I did, I read all the letters from Gran in order. Jacob sat in front of me, just watching. I read some letters aloud, and some I just read to myself. Each letter brought tears to my eyes. They dated back from two thousand eight until my twenty-first birthday. She'd written to me every couple of months.

That night belonged to Gran and me, sharing long-distance, overdue secrets; Jacob was a witness. By the end of the last letter, I was in tears. No, it wasn't even that; I was sobbing a river.

Gran had known about me smoking weed. She'd known about Edward being a bad influence, too. She'd known about me running around in the streets and sometimes never coming home. She'd known about me being in love with my appearance. She'd known that I'd been trouble for my parents, and she hadn't given up on me. I liked to think that she still wasn't.

The worst part, though, was knowing that Gran would have taken me in and that she would _still_ take me in.

I read one paragraph over and over that night. It wasn't her tight, small cursive that made it nearly illegible; it was my tears. It had been in one of the more recent letters, back when I'd been only twenty.

_You should come live here with me in Vegas, where the sun always shines. You would love it here—all warm and nice. I won't force you to change, Bella, but I'll help you. I know you want to be the whole world's girl, but you already have everything. You crazy girl. I'll always help you try to remember who you are. I'll always leave the lights on for you, Bella. You'll always find your way back home._

Gran could have helped me—she was totally willing to help me.

Jacob didn't ask me what I wanted for the rest of that night; he already knew. He held me tight in his arms, and he let me cry. I couldn't have asked for anything else. That would have simply been more than enough.

* * *

I woke up late the next morning—too late. I guessed that was what I got for crying all night, but I didn't mind. Jacob woke up even later, though. I was outside, sitting on the porch, when he met me that morning. The sun was shining just a little bit, but I couldn't have noticed. My nose was stuck in a book, and it was a book that Jacob recognized. I needed some new material to read, anyway—the letters broke my heart.

"Are you reading _The Count of Monte Cristo_?" he asked.

I looked up from the novel and smiled. It felt strained, but I was glad to be smiling. "What?" I asked. "Did you expect me to be reading something by Danielle Steel or someone like her?"

He shook his head. "Nah. It's just that nobody reads the classics anymore. And that, my friend, is a classic."

"It is," I agreed. "You make it sound like it wasn't me who got you to read it in the first place."

"Sure, sure. You know, we never really discussed this, but… who's your favorite character?"

I didn't even have to think about it. "Definitely Benedetto."

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you'd say Maximilien or Valentine."

"Ugh, why?" I asked. "They're so annoying. I thought I told you thank already."

"Well, then, why do you love Benedetto so much?" he challenged.

"This is cheesy but… he reminds me of myself."

Jake plopped down next to me on the porch chair next to mine. "If you're an escaped convict, then I'm a little concerned."

"It's not that," I assured him. "It's the whole 'nature versus nurture' theory. I mean, he didn't grow up in a bad environment at all, but he ended up being a terrible person."

"Bells, you're not a terrible person."

"Don't you know the whole 'nature versus nurture' thing, though?" I asked. "Benedetto didn't grow up in a violent home at all, but he grew up as this… this _menace_. When I think about it now, I grew up around my mom, who's so fucking uptight about everything, but I grew up to be dirt-poor and a loser."

He thought about that for a second—his face was deep in consideration. Then he nodded slowly. "That's kind of true," he said insightfully. "Only you're not _that_ much of a loser."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm kind of the same way, but the opposite. I mean, I grew up with people having low expectations of me and bringing me down, but I grew up to be more successful than them. Not very successful, but still better than them."

"Did people expect you to fail because you grew up on the reservation?" I asked.

"That's exactly what people expected."

"I wish I could prove people wrong in the right way," I sighed.

"I'm pretty sure people hate me, Bells," he said. "They all think I think I'm better than them for leaving the rez."

"That's bullshit," I replied sharply. "Just because you have goals doesn't mean you're bad."

"Tell that to them, then."

"We'll go to the rez tomorrow," I decided.

"Tomorrow?"

I nodded. "We have nothing else to do in Forks."

"Alright."

I smiled. "Alright."

* * *

The rest of the day—Saturday—consisted of more time with Billy and Charlie (and I didn't talk to Charlie about the letters at all), but by the time Sunday arrived, I was sick of having the parental guidance, and I could say the same for Jacob.

Sunday morning, I dragged Jacob to the grocery store. I remembered the last time I'd gone to this specific grocery store in Forks. I'd possessed twenty dollars in my pocket, and I had been a doll. Plastic. Fake. My life had been a play, and I'd been unhappy and indecisive with just about everything.

Not today, though.

Today, I had a marvelous man by my side, a good head on my shoulders, and a heart. A real heart that could grow and shrink and ache and feel absolutely wonderful. I wasn't plastic anymore, and I didn't want to be.

Only one thought could ring through my head, and I wasn't sure where I'd heard it before. Maybe it had come from a song… I didn't know, but I didn't really mind, either.

_I feel celestial._

* * *

There had been plans for a picnic.

There had been plans for a wonderful little picnic between Jacob and I on First Beach in La Push. We'd been going to have a romantic, miniscule, "official" second date with champagne and sandwiches and perfection. We might have even had sex for the very first time (cue the gasps!) after that date.

As if I'd been paying attention to the weather, anyway.

On the drive to First Beach that Sunday afternoon, it started to rain.

Okay, no. I couldn't sugarcoat it.

It wasn't just rain. It wasn't poetic or inspiring at all, and there was no poetic or inspiring way to call it. The constant water from the sky wasn't "magical, sprinkling drops of God's tears." If I had to draw any sort of parallels to God, it would have been more like God's piss. The Holy Urine.

So, no, it didn't just "rain."

A fucking ocean was dumped down onto La Push. An ocean in God's magical bucket was meant to be dumped in a bigger ocean, but—_whoops_. It managed to hit a little speck of sand named La Push, right next to that ocean it aimed for. If you asked me, God had some terrible aim.

With an ocean falling from the sky, my picnic with Jacob was already ruined, so he insisted on taking me back to his house, where he assumed everybody was. Jake had to have been a psychic, too, because that was where everybody was.

The small red house was loud and boisterous when Jake and I arrived, and then it got even louder. Jacob had to have been lying about nobody liking him because he left the rez, because at his house, he was treated like a hero.

"Guess who's back!"

"Whaddup, man!?"

"How's the city life treating ya?"

And not only was Jacob treated nicely, but they all treated me the same way. Most of the people there were men around Jacob's age, and they made me feel welcome. I met a total of at least ten new people including Sam, Emily, Jared, Kim, Embry, Brady, Collin, Seth, and a few others who I never really talked to. Paul and Rachel were there, too, but no Claire and Quil.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't looking for Leah Clearwater, so I was. I didn't know what I wanted to say or do to her; I didn't want to beat her up, but at the same time, I wasn't scared of her. There was nothing to be afraid of. However, she wasn't there. I couldn't blame her, though.

To everybody at Jacob's house, I was "Jacob's girl." It didn't sound like such a bad thing—not at all. It was like I was one of them. I listened to their embarrassing stories about Jacob and laughed with them. I held Jacob's hand like I belonged there, and I truly did; I wasn't just the overdressed white girl on Jacob's arm.

At some point, once the rain stopped, Jacob and I retreated without anybody noticing. We walked down to First Beach. Even as we'd lost our picnic date, we hadn't lost the opportunity to go to the beach. We would be going back to Everett tomorrow. At least we had this time together now.

I slipped off my shoes and felt the cool, wet sand tickle my toes. "This is paradise," I said. "I would have loved to grow up here."

Jacob shrugged and smiled a bit. "It's nothing."

I laughed. "It's obviously something."

I spotted a swing set in the distance, and before I knew it, Jacob had hitched me over his shoulder and ran us to it. I couldn't stop laughing, but that was only before the swinging contest got serious.

"I'm gonna get higher than you!" I yelled.

"No you're not!" he yelled back. Once he saw that I, in fact, was higher than him, he came up with a new challenge. "We should jump on three."

"Hell no," I replied. "Klutzes aren't supposed to jump from heights taller than they are."

"Chicken," he said mockingly. Then he started clucking.

"I am not a chicken," I told him.

"Then prove it." He started clucking again.

"Nuh-uh. You're being rude."

"And you're being a chicken," he replied. "C'mon, I'll catch you."

I snorted. "Right."

"No, seriously."

"Fine."

He flew off his swing and into the sand. He quickly regained his balance and held his arms out to me—I knew this wasn't going to end well. I took a deep breath and a few more swings. "I swear to God, Jake, if you don't catch me…"

"I'll catch you," he said. "Trust me."

_Trust him. Trust yourself._

Mindlessly, I pushed myself off the swing set once I was high in the air, and screamed as I flew. I wasn't sure what I screamed for—maybe it was appropriate.

Jacob caught me, alright; I landed _on top_ of him in the sand. Looking down at him, there were only a trillion things I wanted to say. Only a trillion different ways to pour my heart out, because I fucking loved him. I loved him, dammit. A while ago, I hadn't thought I could love anyone because it just wasn't me. I hadn't had the heart for it. People changed, though—_I'd_ changed, and it wasn't for the worse, like last time. That was something to be proud of, rather than just being pretty and having the power to take home anyone I wanted. I would much rather be able to love the right person instead of be loved by the wrong people.

With too many thoughts flooding through my head, the words just slipped out of my mouth. The wrong ones.

"God, you're so handsome."

It was okay, though, I guessed, because he spoke at the same time. "God, you're beautiful."

I didn't have to think about it; I kissed him. He put one his hands in my hair and the other at my waist, and then he kissed me back. It hit me right in the chest: I didn't have to fill my heart with emptiness.

_We don't have to be lonely anymore._

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ Feedback would be deeply appreciated. What did you guys think? I'm always curious, you know._

_IT'S GONNA BE MAY,_

_MTL. xo_


	16. Chapter Sixteen

_**A/N: **__Last chapter was kind of fun. If you read my old fanfic "Gods and Monsters" then I guess you can say I have a weird thing for plots that include mysterious boxes of letters!? I'm crazy. I hope you guys enjoy this one. By the way, I'm sorry for taking so long to update. I've been, like… off. I don't even know. This is probably one of my favorite chapters yet, though. What's weird is that every time I think I write one of my favorite chapters, you guys don't like it that much! I. I just. I'm tuned out. Lol. Enjoy._

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

With a little piece of home with me—and a larger piece of the unknown from my grandmother, too—Jacob and I made our way home the following Monday morning. I wasn't sure about him, but I knew I couldn't take the small town life for too long. This was just enough, though.

Or maybe it was a little too much, towards the beginning of our journey back home.

On the outskirts of Forks, Jacob and I drove past a man. He was lethargically walking down the sidewalk, almost falling off and into the street. The man was absolutely wasted.

The man was Edward.

"Fucking hell," Jacob remarked as we were far past Edward. "That guy didn't look too good. We should turn around and take him to a hospital or something. He looks like he needs it."

"Stop trying to be a hero," I told him. I turned around to try to see Edward again, but he was nothing but a dot. "He doesn't need anything from us."

"What, do you know him?"

I gave him a look of annoyance, but eventually nodded.

"_Oh_," Jacob said. He got it. "Edward, right?"

I nodded again. "Right." It was still embarrassing to admit to myself that I'd dated him, and for so long, too. If I was still an idiot now, then I'd been a _huge_ one back then. Sighing like a teenage girl on the inside, I again realized that we all had our obsessions, and some were just terrible. And obnoxious. And wasted in public.

"Everyone makes mistakes," Jake concluded. "Even if they're really ugly and gross."

I snickered. "Uh-huh."

"You know, I kinda miss that monster we left at home," he remarked.

I smiled—I knew Jake would come around to missing Caderousse. It would be impossible for him not to. "At least I'm not the only one," I replied. "At least he likes _you_. I have a feeling he's planning on killing me one of these days."

Jacob's eyes remained on the freeway. "That's because you barely feed him, and when you do, you try to pet him at the same time."

"You're not supposed to do that?" I asked.

"Not when he's starving."

"Well, color me fucked and surprised. I didn't know animals didn't want a little affection. Looks like I'll have to give all my love to someone who deserves it."

"Gee, I wonder who that could be."

"So do I."

Smiling, I turned up the radio. My sarcasm parades with Jacob could go for days—maybe it was just ending early this time. I was sure of this because he brought his hand to mine and held it tight, right on my lap.

I was home without even being back yet.

* * *

Our penthouse apartment was almost empty once Jacob and I got back. After unpacking and putting my clothes in the washing machine, Jake approached me with a note from Carmen in the kitchen.

_Caderousse is such a good pet. He hardly gave me any trouble. I just fed him lunch. I'll see you at work, Bella._

_Carmen._

"So he's nice to everyone but me," I confirmed.

"Guess so," Jacob agreed. "Now where's that damn cat…"

I sighed and went to the living room to collapse on the couch. It was so great to be home.

* * *

Life continued in its simplicity for the next few days. One thing I'd learned from living with Jacob was that life didn't have to be full of big, sweeping events. I didn't have to have it all; it had only given me not much in the end. It was the little things that made me a happier person. It was the things like falling onto the couch after a long day and watching the newest episode of an intriguing drama. Coming home to the smell of dinner and the sound of Jacob whistling and sometimes singing (badly). Going to work with a great mindset: _I am going to have a good day._ It was one better day that made things a little happier. One little perk of making one little change.

Jacob kept having "little" changes, though they weren't very little to him.

The next Thursday, he lost his job at the garage. It wasn't because of something he said or did; he did _everything_ right. Being a mechanic was his favorite job out of the three he had. The garage had merely gone out of business. Something had gone wrong and Jacob had managed to get the shit end.

And after all this time, I'd been complaining about _my_ bad luck. I would do just about anything to give some of my luck to him.

That Thursday evening, I wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't his fault, of course, and I knew that the "it gets better" talk was crap. This wasn't going to get better, and we both knew it. The bottle of wine we'd shared knew it, too.

So I didn't know what to say that night. I don't think he needed me to say anything, anyway. We lay on the couch together, my body halfway on his. We stared up at the ceiling.

"The world feels smaller from here," I mumbled.

"The world feels smaller than ever now," Jacob replied.

"You have such a one-track mind sometimes," I told him. "You're like a goldfish or something."

"Sorry," he said, not sounding very sorry. "I just feel… numb."

"I know my pep talk is mostly crap to you," I began, "but—"

"Well, shit, now I feel bad."

"Don't. My pep talk _is_ mostly crap. But seriously, Jacob, you _are_ going to be okay. Just… take it easy, okay? I mean." I sighed. "You don't have to live your life in fear like this. It's so—"

"Who said I live my life in fear? What do I have to be afraid of?"

I considered that for a minute. "Yourself," I said. "And I've been there. I… I think I'm still there, Jake. You don't have to live different lives or be different people. It makes you bitter. It makes your heart empty. I know you can trust people—especially after letting _me_ in, finally—but you have to trust yourself."

He looked down at me. "But do _you_ trust yourself?"

"This isn't about me," I said defensively.

"You have to trust yourself, though."

"No, _you_ have to trust _your_self, Jake."

"Bells, you trying to help me when you haven't helped yourself yet doesn't make things any easier."

"I know," I replied lamely, "but I still do it."

"Then that's dumb."

"Just listen to me." I took a deep breath. "You don't have to live your life in fear," I told him. "So don't."

"This can only work if you try, too," he said fairly.

I bit my lip. "Okay."

"You know, Bella, you've really changed a lot of things around here."

I snorted. "I've been here for six months. Nothing's happened."

He just chuckled.

"What?" I asked.

"I love you so much."

I blinked a bit, flushed. Jacob was always like this: his heart was so full at night and by the morning it was empty. It happened every time. He would set my emotions on fire, and in the morning it would be like nothing ever happened.

"Please tell me you're being real with me," I replied.

"I'm the realest I could ever be."

"I'm serious, Jake."

"Bells, so am I."

"Every time you tell me shit like that, it burns out. Don't burn me out."

"I'm not gonna burn you out."

I sighed. _Fuck me. I never believe him._ I didn't say anything else.

"You really don't think I'm being honest, do you?" he asked.

More silence.

"C'mon, Bells."

Nothing.

"Talk to me."

I was such a troubled person. I was troubled and troubling at the same time.

"Wow."

"Okay, Jake, do you know what I want?" I finally said.

"Tell me what you want. I wanna know."

"I want you to love me."

He started humming Cheap Trick's "I Want You to Want Me." I hit him in the stomach—it couldn't have hurt him, though; his abs were as hard as rocks.

Jacob laughed.

"Don't be dumb," I muttered, jealous of his ability to laugh at himself.

"I get it, though," he said. "You want me to _want_ you. You want me to make sweet love to you on the floor because you just can't get enough. You want to scream my name for hours on end and that _still_ wouldn't be enough. You want me to profess my love to you in a manner like Augustus would for Hazel, or Pudge for Alaska, or Jim for Pam, or Homer for Marge, or Maximilien for Valentine, or Romeo for Juliet."

I couldn't see why Leah hadn't married him.

I knew _I_ might.

"Jake, you're ridiculous," I said. _Not to mention fantastic, and smart, and funny, and gorgeous, and totally endearing._

"And you still want me to want you, anyway."

I didn't have to think about it. "Okay, you're right. You're totally right."

"Then I'll want you." He brought his lips down to my ear, and a thousand ripples of electricity surged through my body. "Even more than I already do," he grunted softly.

Any sense of control I felt at that moment had packed its bags and jumped out the window, because I lost it. I fucking lost it, and I didn't care.

Jacob sat up and brought me down to his lap quicker than lightning. Straddling him, I crushed my lips to his and put my hands in his hair.

"Looks like I have almost nothing to be scared of anymore," he breathed against my lips.

Tasting him slow and sweetly, I wondered, "Why do you say that?"

"The only thing that can scare me is you."

I looked down at him for a second and smiled devilishly. He moved a few strands of hair behind my ears, and then kissed me again, right on the lips.

_I could definitely get used to this…_

Jacob bit on my bottom lip, tugging on it sexily. I could taste my name and our wine on his lips. I could feel his hands solid under my ass. I swiftly moved my own hands down to the bottom of his shirt to tug it up, but there were a thousand thoughts running through my head. There were a thousand things I wanted to do.

"God," I moaned. "Is this really gonna happen?"

Looking up at me, Jacob smiled a bit. "I don't know."

"Me neither."

"We should have sex," he suggested.

"We should have sex?"

"We should _really_ have sex."

* * *

We didn't have sex.

At least, not that night, I supposed.

"So when would you like to start?" Jake had asked me early the next morning. It was Friday, and he still had to work over at the high school.

Over a cup of coffee, we'd started having a little, half-asleep conversation about sex, and the idea of having it.

"I'm not sure," I admitted thoughtfully. I was trying not to smile—trying to not look too excited—but I was probably doing a bad job of it.

"How about now?" he offered. From my place at the table, I casted a glance down at the hallway, to the open door of his—our—bedroom.

I shook my head. "No, let's plan it."

"Why?" he wondered.

"My first time wasn't planned," I explained, "and I hated it. I think we should plan it and be more prepared. Don't you agree?"

How the tables had turned… I was now being the sensible one.

"That makes sense," he agreed. "You know what?"

"What?"

"I'll take you out," he decided. "I'll show you the world."

I took a sip of my coffee. "The world? I don't think we have enough time for that." _How much I wouldn't mind, though…_

"Then Seattle," Jacob corrected, aiming smaller. "Or at least downtown. Have you ever been to downtown Seattle?"

I shook my head no.

He grinned like he just won a million dollars. "Great."

"So, Seattle it is?"

"Only if it's alright with you."

My foot played with his under the table. "Jake, it's totally alright with me."

He played back. "Alright."

* * *

I had never known how terrible my patience really was until I actually had to wait for something. All my life I'd never had to expect things because I'd gotten what I wanted, or what I'd deserved for the most part. I'd never had to anticipate and wait days for anything. I'd never been excited for my birthday or Christmas because I'd always know what I'd got.

This was different, though.

One hundred percent different.

Jacob and I would be taking off for a long weekend in Seattle, right in the middle of April—just the two of us. We would be leaving today, Friday, and returning Sunday. I felt a little surge of adrenaline rush through my veins now, as we drove in the familiar, classic Rabbit to downtown Seattle. I wasn't at all scared; just nervous. I'd once read somewhere that there was a big difference between the two terms; being scared meant you didn't want to do something, but being nervous meant you did. And I truly did want to do this.

It wasn't like Jake and I were escaping _just_ for sex, anyway. That would be stupid. Besides, we were a couple. I was okay with admitting that. We were allowed to have dates, no matter which fictional couples did. We were allowed to go into the real world, too. It was about time to, anyway—we didn't just indulge in fiction; we _lived_ in it.

Upon entering the Westin Seattle hotel that early evening with Jake, my adrenaline spiked. I took in the April, Seattle air and felt like I was entering a new land. Taking new chances. And I was.

The Westin Seattle was a big hotel; easily the biggest I'd ever visited. Jacob had never gone here before, though, he'd told me. The place was apparently the tallest tower in the city, with forty-seven stories, and I found it lovely.

At the front desk, I set my bag down next to me and held on to Jacob's arm. He was just so warm; I couldn't ever resist.

A tiny conundrum danced at the back of my mind, though: _We're not going to go at it right away, are we?_

Once we were checked in and on our way to our suite—on the forty-fifth floor—it came to me right away: _No, we're not._

I half-expected Jacob to carry me over the threshold like a bride, simply for the theatrics, but he didn't. I was glad, though; I didn't need him to treat me like his bride, merely because I wasn't.

But holy shit, he'd outdone himself.

"This room is _spectacular_," I said once I was in, dazed. I turned to Jake and asked, "How much did this cost?"

"Don't worry about it," he replied nonchalantly.

We walked around the room slowly, just taking everything in. "This is called a Grand View room," Jacob informed me, looking out of our very grand view of Seattle. The Space Needle stood in the middle of all the buildings, proud and tall.

"They're not kidding when they say this is grand," I replied. "This is fucking insane."

"Do you like it?" he asked. "Please tell me you like it."

I gave him look—he was returning back to his anxious ways, but then again, we still had our obsessions. "I love it," I finally replied. "Really, I do."

"Aww, Bells," he murmured, bringing his lips down to mine. He kissed me, and holy shit—he kissed me _hard_. He kissed me like it was the first time he was kissing anyone, but maybe that was what it felt like. Jake and I weren't seventeen with each other anymore, though. We weren't scared little kids, and when I walked backwards to the king-sized bed and pulled him down with me, I knew there was nothing to be afraid of. Not anymore.

As I scooted back onto the bed, I stared at the man before me.

If I were to say that Jacob Black wasn't beautiful, then I would be lying. It was obvious: he was a beautiful man. He was beautiful man looking extra beautiful in a gray vest and tie with a white shirt and dark gray pants. The color of his skin was lovely—a warm, russet brown with reddish tints. His dark brown eyes told stories. His full lips held secrets that even I had yet to figure out.

So yes, he was beautiful. He was very beautiful.

I tried to see under that beauty, though. I tried to see not through him, but into him. I wished I had superpowers just so I could see into his soul and be totally assured that yes, yes, yes, yes, _yes_, he wanted me, too. This was a really ridiculous and cliché thing to say, but I wasn't used to men wanting me genuinely, or for more than just a good time.

I just wanted this to be real, and as of now, I was up in the clouds and I didn't know what to do.

Jacob sat down next to me on the bed carefully, as if he was concerned with things being kept neat… Then again, he probably was. His OCDish little quirks hadn't disappeared over time, but I didn't want them to either. They were his sparks—his little sparks of originality that made him lovely and divine and _so himself._

I turned to him and just stared at him. Just a look was all I needed sometimes. He stared back, and I couldn't bring myself to feel awkward. I was alright.

We were alright.

* * *

Downtown Seattle wasn't South Everett, and South Everett sure as hell wasn't downtown Seattle.

Jake and I roamed the streets, encountering multiple coffee shops, department stores, and long lines of parked cars. I felt romantic—and celestial—in the cheesiest of ways, but I didn't mind.

"I wanna live here someday," Jacob stated after laughing at me stepping into fresh bird crap… for the third time.

I raised a brow. "So I can step in bird shit?" I asked. "Get out."

"Nah, Bella." He smirked. "I mean, Everett's nice, but Seattle… Seattle is where it's at." He looked up at the street signs.

"What are we looking for?" I wondered.

"A taxi stand. We've got dinner reservations in…" He checked his watch. "About an hour. It's better to get there early, though."

"Okay."

"But like I said," he continued, "Seattle is where it's at. When I first got out of La Push, I was aiming for Seattle, but I ended up in South Everett. Do you know what Seattle is to me?"

"What is Seattle to you?"

"Seattle is bigger. Better. Brighter."

"So you're looking to be a star now?" I teased.

"Not even. I'm looking to have a life."

I gave him an odd look, but didn't say anything. He was becoming more and more spontaneous every single day; I could barely keep up.

"What's the point in waking up at the same time everyday, making the same old breakfast, going to the same old jobs, and living like that _all the time_? It's boring."

"Jacob," I said, "you're kind of boring. Habits-wise, I mean. And you said it yourself: there's nothing wrong with doing the same things as long as you like it."

"Maybe I just want a change."

I nodded. "Maybe that's what I need."

He eventually hailed a cab, and once we were in the backseats of the little yellow taxi, I asked Jacob where we were going for dinner. He ordered the driver to go to the Space Needle, and just smiled at me. "You'll love it."

* * *

I was pretty sure I didn't deserve to be living life like this now, especially how I didn't want it like I'd used to. This restaurant that Jake had made reservations for was the most luxurious place I'd been to since I'd lived in Phoenix. Since then, I'd been living a life of fabricated wealth. This was almost the real deal, though… I wasn't too sure how I felt about it, but this was sweet of Jacob. He made me feel adored, like I had the entire world. Back in September, I would have yearned for this so badly that it ached.

Take the Space Needle. Put in a restaurant near the top. Make the restaurant spin. That was the restaurant Jake and I were in. It was like we were slowly being shown the entire city as we had a candle-lit dinner.

As if the fish really meant anything, anyway. This was my date with Jacob, and I wouldn't have even minded sitting on his couch in South Everett, wearing sweatpants, inhaling McDonald's.

"The view is breathtaking," I observed after taking a bite of salad.

"I've never been here," Jake admitted. "I mean, I know you must think I've seen the world or something, with all of my mad skills, but I've never been here. I mean…" He looked like he was blushing. "I never had a date to come here with me."

I couldn't bring myself to not compare myself to Leah Clearwater—again. Had she truly been the worst girlfriend ever?

I smiled. "Then there's a first time for everything." Then I lifted my glass of champagne. "To tonight."

"To Jake and Bells' infinite playlist." He lifted his own glass.

_God_, he made me want to cry. He knew just what I liked, and even when he didn't, he always figured it out. It was like he wanted to get inside my mind, and he knew how. I felt myself blushing; he was too much. Now I knew what it felt like to be "swept off my feet." This was the greatest sweep of all sweepings.

Grinning at Jacob, I clicked my glass to his. "To the infinite playlist," I agreed.

With that one little _clink_ and a drink to celebrate, I felt electrified. Radioactive. I wanted to say Jacob felt the same, but I wasn't sure. He looked… nervous. And I knew why. A sudden twinge of my nerves spiked my little confidence.

I held Jake's hand over the table to comfort him, and to my surprise, he was comforting back.

I shouldn't have been so surprised.

* * *

Jake and I went to a little café right next to the hotel for dessert. I was surprised he didn't use a tacky, internet pick-up line about our soon-to-be sexual experience being the dessert on me, just to eliminate some awkwardness. I could see it in his eyes, though: he was a little nervous. Just a little.

The café was almost perfect, in all honesty. It was small and personal and it played mostly songs I hated, but I didn't mind. Jacob and I split an ice cream sundae and sang obnoxiously to the songs we knew, whether we hated them or not. An upbeat song was at its bridge once Jake and I finally decided to leave. The lyrics stuck to me, and I didn't know why:

C_an you teach me how to feel real? Can you turn my power off? And let the drum beat drop._

Jake and I held hands and obnoxiously swung our arms around like little kids to the Westin Seattle.

"I guess this is where I'm taking you," he said as we went through the revolving doors. Stepping out of the doors, he snickered. "Pun intended," he added.

_There's my Jake again._

He had to apparently retrieve some things from the car, so he gave me the room key to go up there –all the way to the forty-fifth floor—alone.

I tried to get ready as quickly as I could… until I realized that Jacob might just burst into the room when I was getting ready so _he_ could.

Yeah, I would just take my sweet time.

I showered and shaved meticulously. I brushed my teeth so all traces of fish, salad, champagne, and chocolate cake were gone.

That wasn't the problem, though.

I distinctly remembered last Thanksgiving morning. I'd almost had a heart attack because I hadn't known what to wear, and that had been just for the day.

This wasn't Thanksgiving. I wasn't trying to impress anyone's parents.

This was only ten times more nerve-wracking.

I had only brought two different sets of lingerie strictly for sex because I'd been _so, so sure_ of what I'd wanted. But no; I was an idiot.

For the first time in my life since puberty, I hated looking at myself in the mirror. I absolutely despised it. My appearance only got worse the longer I stared and I couldn't turn away no matter how hard I tried. I couldn't turn the other cheek and say, "I look great," honestly because I did not look great.

I leaned against the cool counter as my skin felt ablaze. I was wearing a white, lacy baby doll night gown. It had come from a lingerie line "for goddesses."

I didn't feel like a goddess in this; I felt like a peasant. I felt like a pathetic teenage girl who didn't know what to do.

Wasn't that who I was on the inside, even as I'd attempted—many times—to make a change?

I couldn't stop playing with my appearance after that acknowledgment. I adjusted the flimsy fabric over my body more than I had to. I wouldn't stop adjusting the cups, wishing I wasn't so small. I played with the matching white panties to the point of hating how my ass looked in them. I couldn't leave my hair alone. I constantly adjusted my makeup. I knew something, though.

I knew it _still wouldn't change anything_.

I needed to take the wrong end of my toothbrush so badly; I needed it like a drug. I immediately felt fifty pounds heavier; a cow stared back at me in the mirror.

_No. No. No._

_God, no._

I splashed my face with water to make it all go away and—

_Shit_.

My makeup smeared all over the place. Sometime in the future, I could laugh about this_. I remember the first night I had sex with Jacob. I was such an idiot, smearing my makeup and then getting mad and not realizing that I would only get it smeared again, anyway._

But no—this was not the future. This was now, and now was not the time to be an idiot.

_Too bad, so sad._

Frustrated, I threw my foundation brush down onto the counter, and I slid to the floor.

_Don't fucking cry, don't fucking cry, don't fucking cry…_

Well, shit—I was crying. I was crying because I couldn't do anything right, but also because I was scared. I was _terrified_. The initial question I'd had from the start: _What if he doesn't like me?_

I didn't have a solid answer this time. I'd lost my confidence somewhere; I'd been replaced with a real person, and I hated and loved it at the same time.

_What if he doesn't like me? What if he thinks this is a waste? What if he doesn't really love me?_

_What if we're not ready?_

I was an idle teenager, alright; I was still contemplating if Jake and I were ready or not.

Or maybe it had nothing to do with him; maybe it was all me. Of course I would be the unprepared one in the situation. Memories of my seventeen-year-old self and Edward back in Forks flooded my mind. I hated it, I hated it, _I hated it._ I hated not being cared for and then suddenly being cared for and not having everything my way and—

There was a knock on the door.

"Honey, you in there?"

Panicking and trying to get myself together all over again, I was in a flurry all over the bathroom. I didn't reply; I could only try to fix what had already been broken.

"Bells?" Jacob asked for a while.

"Yes?" I managed to say.

"I, uh… Can I come in?"

I sighed and gave in. "Okay. The door's unlocked."

He entered the bathroom—bare-chested and in his boxers—to find me leaning against the counter. I was defeated. One hundred percent done.

To my surprise, Jacob sat right down on the floor, his head in his hands.

"Oh my God, no," I murmured. I went to the floor with him, and all I could do was ask what was wrong with him.

"Well, what's the matter with you?" he asked in return.

I took a deep breath. "Everything."

"Then I'm the same."

There was a moment of silence. I stared down at the patterns of the floor; Jacob just looked down at his unmoving hands.

"Are you afraid?" I finally asked.

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Me, too."

There was more silence. So many words could have been spoken, but it didn't feel like a waste. We were unlimited. Unlimited and infinite.

And silent.

We were the image of deception.

"Why are you afraid?" I asked.

"I'm not afraid," he suddenly decided. "I mean, being afraid means you don't want to do it. Being nervous means you want to. I'm just nervous."

"Oh. Then why are you nervous?" I wondered.

"I… I don't have such a good history with love and sex and all that."

I sighed. "Tell me about it."

"We're so different, though," he pointed out. "I mean, I don't have a lot of sex because I'm afraid—I mean, nervous—of finding the right girl, you know?"

To be honest, I didn't know. I also knew I wasn't the "right" girl, or I hadn't been at the start, at least. I wasn't the "right" girl for Jacob; I was just a new girl.

"I guess," I replied, looking up at him. "You had sex to feel something; I had sex to numb the pain."

"You have it so much worse than I do, though," he said. He looked like he felt bad, and I didn't want him to. I didn't want him to feel sympathy for at all because he didn't have to.

I shook my head. "We're just different," I disagreed. "Everything's been shit for me since I was seventeen. I don't get love and sex. They're not the same in my situations."

"My first time was when I was sixteen," Jacob confessed. "It didn't make any sense. I hate love and sex. Don't you just wish you could take it all back?"

My throat felt dry. "My first time was… bad," I admitted. "It was terrible. Me and Edward were only seventeen, and things weren't the same." I scoffed. "He never loved me. Big fucking deal. But it just… it hurt. Both physically and emotionally, anyway. And every time after that hurt, too. He always…" I could feel my voice rising into hysterics. "He didn't care. And I can't take any of it back. I don't want to be in pain anymore."

"Honey," he murmured. "You don't have to be in pain anymore."

"You don't, either. I've seen you sad before, Jake. It killed me. You don't have to be like that."

He took a deep breath. "Right."

The knot in my stomach didn't loosen up. "Are we still gonna do this?" I asked.

"Do you still want to?"

"Trust me, Jake. I want to."

"I love you, Bells."

I smiled at him; I would never get sick of those words for as long as I lived. "I love you, too, Jake."

He made me want to believe in love.

"Well, let's do it," I said. He stood up, and I stood up with him. He held my hand, and I was put at ease.

"Are you alright?" he asked as we entered the bedroom, making our way to the big bed. I found myself stepping on pink rose petals that started at the floor and ended on the bed in the shape of a heart. The sun had already set, and the lit-up Space Needle and the rest of downtown Seattle served as a backdrop.

"I'm alright," I replied.

Trying to be as graceful as possible, I reached my hands up to Jacob's neck, and I kissed him. I planted soft kisses along his throat, and that was okay for a while until he lifted me and wrapped my legs around his torso.

Jacob sat us down on the bed, and I opened my eyes. He brought his hands up to my cheeks and ran his fingers along them. I could have sworn he wiped half my face off. There was mascara all over his hands.

"I look like a raccoon," I observed, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Then you're the sexiest raccoon on the planet," he replied.

"You charmer."

With his hands on my waist, he brought his lips to the soft skin at my shoulder and kissed it sensually and slowly. It was always the shoulders with him. It was everywhere but the lips, but I didn't mind. As he moved his lips up to my throat, I let my fingers play around in his hair. I closed my eyes and focused, concentrating on both my breathing and his. Both were steady, but our hearts beat wildly in a syncopated fashion.

My eyes fluttered open and I felt a twinge of excitement in my abdomen when Jacob moved his hands to my ass and scooted further back on the bed. I could feel him under me, but I tried to focus on other things, like this moment in general. My eyes fell on a flower vase on the nightstand—it hadn't been there before. Jacob had bought pink roses (just the same roses he'd given me on Valentine's Day) just for me. He really could be an old romantic if he wanted to.

His breathing hitched, and I couldn't help but tighten the grip I had on his hair. It was almost like we didn't have enough time…

I slid down against the pillows, and he followed me. With that, I knew he would follow me anywhere. On his hands and knees over me, and slowly pressed his lips down to mine and kissed me softly. His mouth tasted of peppermint and boy and… _home_. Home away from home. I was always home when I was with Jacob.

"I almost forgot," he suddenly murmured.

I planted a kiss along the divine shape of his jaw—hopefully so he would completely forget whatever he was going to say—and he smiled. "I got wine."

"Maybe in the morning," I mumbled.

"You don't want any now?" he asked.

"Mm-mm. I'm perfect."

"Alright."

"Alright?"

"Alright."

Jacob slid down the bed and I settled comfortably along the pillows. As he lifted up my nightgown and worked his soft lips about my stomach, I pulled the rest of the lacy thing off. It was just getting in the way of things, as well as his boxers. He looked so good in them, but I couldn't doubt he looked better without them.

After finally pulling down my panties, Jacob worked his charms with his mouth and hands. It was safe to say he had a lot of little charms to him.

(Emphasis on the "safe" part, though, because we obviously weren't being very safe.)

As I slowly came (pun intended) down from my high, I asked where the condoms were. He told me they were in his bag, and he got up to get them. With my head still up in the clouds, I waited for him to return to me and my body. He was taking forever, though. Kneeling down, still in his boxers, and looking into his overnight bag, he cursed under his breath and I was getting impatient.

"Are you kidding me?" I asked.

"Just hold on a second…" he grumbled. He kept rummaging and rummaging through that damn bag, and I couldn't believe he had just about everything in there except for a condom.

He stood up and turned back to me. "Wait, didn't we decide that it was _your_ job to get the condoms?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Uh, no. _You're_ the one who has to wear it."

"But _you're_ the one that could get pregnant."

"Well, shit," I muttered. Then I came up with something. "Can't you just pull out?" I wondered.

"_Heeeeeell _no_._"

I pouted. "Don't be a little bitch about it."

He made a sarcastic face. "Okay, let's just get you knocked up all in an act to get some for a little while." He glanced around the room for his pants.

"And where are you going now?" I asked.

Jacob found his pants and pulled them up. "The gas station, milady." He offered me his hand. "And if I'm gonna be embarrassed by the act of buying condoms, then the girl I'm going to need said condoms for should be right by my side. Wanna go with me?"

I looked up at him and bit my lip. The infinite playlist of Jake and Bells wasn't over yet. I refused for it to be over. I grabbed Jake's hand and stood up to find my clothes. "Let's go."

* * *

Within the next three minutes, Jacob and I were walking down the streets of downtown Seattle again. I wouldn't have noticed if I was stepping in bird crap again; it was too dark to see, and only the city lights guided us.

At the front desk, Jacob had fearlessly asked where the next gas station was, and it was apparently just a block or two away from the hotel.

A block or two, my ass.

After fifteen minutes, I asked Jacob if this was really necessary. Walking down the streets of downtown at nearly ten o'clock at night for condoms wasn't that necessary to me.

"Think about it," Jacob said. "You could be buying a condom and being uncomfortable for a couple of minutes, or you could be pregnant and _really_ uncomfortable for nine months."

I made a face. "I'm still waiting for you to be wrong for once," I reminded him.

He laughed.

The gas station eventually came around, and as we entered the parking lot, I told Jake I would be getting random items to make it look like we had more than one objective. He agreed, and the second we went through the automatic doors, I leaned to him and whispered, "Break."

We played like teenagers again and roamed through the store like we didn't know each other. He would appear from different aisles and look nervous to see me, this random girl who followed him into the store; I would smile coyly at him and disappear from his sight, only to find him again. It was a game of cat and mouse.

The game had to end at some point, and when it did, Jacob and I had racked up fifteen items: this week's issue of _US Weekly_; two different flavors of chapstick; an Amazon gift card for ten dollars; three bags of chips (Doritos, Cheetos, and a cheap-ass Lays potato chips knockoff); a ballpoint pen that was modeled after the Space Needle; two pairs of sunglasses; a fake mustache; two tall cans of beer; a bag of Skittles; and the important (and infamous?) box of condoms.

The person working at the checkout counter probably thought we were crazy, the way Jake and I zigzagged throughout the store. The worker—a man in his twenties, it seemed—looked jaded and lackluster. I couldn't blame him; I would hate to be stuck working at a gas station on a Friday night, and especially having to deal with the occasional nuts like Jake and I.

Wes—that was what his nametag said, anyway—absentmindedly observed our items as he checked them out. "Expensive pen," he said, scanning the Space Needle pen. "You guys from out of town or something?"

"Kinda," I replied. "Is it obvious?"

"Not really," Wes replied. "You kind of look like you're from around here."

"How?" Jacob wondered, taking out his wallet. I took out the thirty dollars I'd tucked into the pocket of my—but really Jake's—leather jacket I was wearing and paid for the items instead.

"You look a little crazy," Wes told us.

I bet I did. I was wearing a leather jacket with a dress and heels and no underwear whatsoever; my makeup was still smeared. I could have looked crazier than half the city right now. "Oh," I said.

"It's not a bad thing, I mean," he quickly said. "We could all use a little crazy, you know?"

Jacob nodded. "I guess that makes sense."

I grabbed our two bags, and just as Jake and I were about to leave, Wes stopped us. "Hey, lady, don't you want your change?" he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Keep it. Go a little crazy."

* * *

Finally back in the hotel room, I cracked open my beer can and watched Jacob strip off his shirt for me. I took a long drink and smiled up at him from my place on the bed.

"I wanna throw dollar bills at you," I admitted. "You deserve to be paid for this performance."

He started to undo his pants, and smiled. "You need to stop watching _Magic Mike_ so compulsively."

I snickered. "Don't worry, Jake. Channing Tatum and his abs could never even compete with you."

"Aww, honey, you're so sweet."

I gave him a big, cheesy, beer-fumed grin, and he stole a kiss from me and lingered, as if he was thinking about giving that stolen kiss back. I moaned against his lips, and I felt strangely dated, like we'd had the experiences of ten years rather than in just seven months.

I set my can of beer right next to the pink roses on the nightstand. Jacob sat comfortably in the middle of the bed as I stood and began to take my clothes off. My nerves didn't reappear out of nowhere; they didn't reappear at all. Slipping out of my heels and letting Jacob's jacket fall to the ground was nothing. Unzipping my dress and tugging it down my body was nothing. I let Jacob take in my body, and I watched his facial expression change from curious to even more curious. Only this wasn't just _nothing_.

This was _everything_.

Jacob took me in his arms and kissed me all over again like he had earlier, only it was different. It was like discovering me all over again, but in a new way. I discovered him in a new way, too. You know how the first time you read a book, you don't look for anything? You only see the plot; see what's there. And you know how the second time you read a book, it's like reading it backwards? You try to see and understand everything: every motive; every literary device; every thought running through every character's head. Even if you don't see all of that the second time, there's still a third time. There's always another time.

This was Jacob and I reading each other for the second time. I read between the lines with him; he was such a complex person that I had to.

Breathing hard onto my skin, trying with all his best to hold everything together—and believe me, I was, too, even as we weren't at the penetrating part yet—he asked if I was alright.

"I'm better than alright," I replied. "Are you?"

"I'm alright."

Jacob reached for the box of condoms on the nightstand and ripped it open. I impatiently waited for him to roll it on as I got a huge look of his manhood, and before I knew it—_bam_. He was sliding in.

I gasped. "Fuck, Jake."

"Shit!" he exclaimed. "Sorry. Don't tell me you're a virgin."

I closed my eyes and winced for a bit. "I'm not a virgin, you moron," I hissed, "but holy fucking shit, it's like you have a _third leg._"

"Maybe you're not even wet eno—"

"_I'm_ perfectly fine; you're just huge."

He grunted, and—again—_bam_. My nails dug into his back; that first thrust hurt like a bitch.

"Good God!" I yelled.

"It's not like I'm trying to hurt you!" he said defensively. "God, this isn't a cake walk."

"Obviously not." I shifted a bit, trying to ease things up a bit. "Just, like…" I began. "Um… Find your rhythm?"

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I mean—"

"This is too difficult," he concluded.

"Well, we're already here," I countered. "We can't just stop now."

"Okay, okay." He pushed once—it wasn't too hard. "Is that alright?"

"That's alright," I replied. "Look, it's not like you need me to tell you what to do with your dick."

"Then what's the problem?" he asked, his face bewildered.

"_I'm afraid you're going to pound me straight through the wall. That's the problem, Jacob."_

"Oh."

"Glad to see we're on the same page."

He rolled his eyes and removed his grip from the headboard to my hips. He found his rhythm there, and I rocked my hips into his. It was a very moving, nearly musical experience.

In a way, I mean.

Before I could even count up to one hundred, Jacob was already about to explode. He was breathing hard, with sweat beaded over his forehead and muscles. I tightened my legs around his torso and clenched.

"Wow, thanks," he muttered. "That really helps a lot."

In between breaths, I laughed. "I'm just fucking with you."

"Sure do appreciate it."

We shifted a little more, and Jake picked up the pace. I wasn't going to kill his self-esteem again by judging, so I moved with him. It almost turned into a race, though. Soon enough, I was barely even able to keep up.

I brought my lips up to his as his hands squeezed my ass. I bit down on his lip—hard. So hard I could have drawn blood, I bet. He squeezed hard in return, and I could feel my back arching. Jacob was breathing hard as if he was running a marathon and was on the last leg, and—

_Oh my God._

Yeah, he came. He came _hard_. I did, too, almost at the same time. A trillion ripples went straight to my body because yes, yes, yes, yes, _yes_—Jacob was mine and I was his and anything else was absurd. We were both infinite and unlimited and that was how I wanted things to be.

I looked up at him, and _holy shit_, there were tears in his eyes. They didn't go anywhere, but there were _tears in his fucking eyes._

I brought my fingers up to his jaw, tracing it. "I think we're pretty alright."

Jacob rolled over, but it wasn't the right way. We weren't exactly in the middle of the bed; we were more on towards the edge than I'd thought. So as he rolled over to my right, he bumped into the nightstand, and something fell over.

_Hisssss._

My can of beer spilled everywhere.

"Shit," Jake muttered. "Shit, shit, shit."

I didn't say anything.

I scooted over to give him more room, and he just stared up at the ceiling. _"Wow."_

"Very _wow_," I agreed.

"I think we did alright," he said, turning to me. He held out his fist. "Gimme some, Bells."

I weakly pounded my fist to his. "You've got it, Jake."

* * *

_**A/N: **__This was a trip to write. Leave reviews and I'll fly over the moon._

_Take care, keep cool, be dope,_

_MTL. xoxo_


	17. Chapter Seventeen

_**A/N: **__How was that last chapter, eh? I had a blast writing it, haha. Hopefully you guys will enjoy this as well, even as it is mellower than the last but still kinda…? You'll see._

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

I'd never expected summer in Everett to be hotter than summer in Forks.

I mean, for one thing, I had never, _ever_ expected to be this sweaty.

As I slid open the window of the bedroom I shared with Jacob, I could feel my tank top sticking to my back like a second skin and my bra clinging to my boobs for dear life. I felt gross.

"Is it always this hot?" I wondered aloud to Jacob, who was sitting in an armchair across the room. One of his old planners was in his hands, and he squinted down at it as if it was an ancient transcript.

He didn't look up. "Nope," he popped the _P_ sound. "It gets hotter in July. It's not even the summer solstice yet."

"Well, shit," I proclaimed. "Thanks."

"Don't blame it on me. Aren't you used to the hot?"

"Why, because I'm from Arizona?"

"Nah, because you live with me." He smirked, and I gave him a sarcastic look. "You set yourself up for that one," he added, his eyes back down at his planner. My bitter expression turned into a smile, and it didn't feel forced. Nothing felt forced anymore.

I supposed he was right, though; it was only June, and it was supposed to get hotter. Today was actually _the_ day in June, too. The high school that Jacob worked at had just gotten out for the summer, so he was out, too. I didn't know what he would exactly spend his entire summer doing, but I couldn't doubt that I would be part of it.

I stared at Jacob from across the room as I leaned against the cool window, and I knew that we would be okay for the summer. I'd gotten a job at a dental office as an assistant last month, and it paid pretty well. Much better than the movie theater, anyway. And Jacob had also gotten a new job at a new garage as a mechanic. I knew he wouldn't be able to leave that gig alone. I was proud of him for getting back up again. I was even proud of myself. We deserved an award for Most Improved or something.

I picked up my cold can of beer from the edge of the windowsill. "I just realized," I began, "that this the last time you're going to wear that shirt until September." Jake could handle the heat incredibly well, and he'd lived in Washington all his life. As he still sat in the damn chair, he still wore that same navy blue shirt that said _SECURITY_ on the back and the name of the school on the front in white letters. He had worn that shirt (and two others just like it) nearly every other day since I'd moved here.

He looked up at me again—finally—and smiled. "You noticed."

"'Course I did," I replied. "What're you filling that planner out for?"

"My shifts at the new garage. I need to write down the times for everything like when I leave and when I start and when I have lunch and—"

"_Jake!_" I said, exasperated. "Stop!"

"What bugs you about my lifestyle now, milady?"

"I love it when you call me that," I murmured, "but that is not the point."

"Okay, what is your point?" he asked. "I would _looooove_ to know." I could sense the extreme sarcasm.

I shrugged. "You're, like, insane. You're still doing this planning shit. Stop."

"You can't tell me to change my—"

"I'm not telling you to change your life. I'm telling you to stop."

"Forget it."

"Forget you!" I replied.

"Forget _you_!" he protested.

"That doesn't even make sense."

"And neither does your argument." He closed his planner and set it on his lap. "You can't make me get rid of the last bit of organization I have left. Look at you, Bella. You're corrupting me!"

"I'm not corrupting you if I'm trying to make you better."

"You're pulling an Alaska."

"Shut the hell up."

"You're pulling an Alaska," he repeated.

"I said, _shut the hell up_."

"Look in the mirror," he told me. "You're wearing a tank top and shorts and holding a can of beer and you're trying to corrupt me. Bam. Alaska Young."

_Fuck, he's right,_ I thought as I opened my can of beer. "You're just saying that," I said, still refusing to give up my pathetic argument. "You're just pulling shit like that because that's your favorite thing we've read so far."

"Not even," he lied. I knew it was a lie. Jacob had devoured John Green's _Looking for Alaska_ over one night as I had still been trying to get over the beautiful tear fest that was _The Fault in Our Stars._

"And why do you say that?" I asked.

"_The Count of Monte Cristo_ was my favorite," he stated. "The end."

"Why?"

"'Cause it's the first thing we read," he clarified.

I slapped my hand against my heart. "You old sap. That would've sounded a little better if you weren't staring at my boobs so blatantly."

"Not even!" he replied. "I was staring at the beer in your hand. Can I have a sip of that?"

I pursed my lips at him. "What ever happened to"—I brought my voice lower—"_No, honey, I'm not gonna drink that much beer anymore_."

His face was innocent and honest. "I got thirsty."

I snorted. "Great argument." I took a long swig of beer first, and then I handed him the tall can. He took a long gulp—way more than a sip—and a few drips trickled down his throat, sliding down his shirt and chest.

(Yeah, I wanted to lick it all off.)

He handed me the can again, and it felt less than half full. Before I could say anything, he swooped in to attempt to save his own ass. "I'll buy you another," he promised. And saved he had.

"Alaska would _never_ let you have that much of her booze," I reminded him. "Now you've gotta stop comparing me to a dead fictional character that you can never bang."

"Sure, sure."

I set the can down on the nightstand and went to sit on Jacob's lap, my legs hanging off the arm of the chair. "What are we doing tonight?" he suddenly asked.

"Uh…"

"It's Friday," he reminded me.

"We never do anything on other Friday nights," I recapped him.

"Yeah, but c'mon. We should see a movie or something."

"Nope," I immediately replied. "Nope, nope, nope. I am never going to that theater again."

"We don't have to go to the Everett one if it haunts you that bad."

"I don't want to see a movie, period," I decided. "I don't want to spend any more of your money, and that is that."

"Well, shit," he muttered. "I am insane. I wanna spend the world on you."

"Don't," I quickly said. "Seriously."

"Okay, okay," he replied. "I've got you."

I snickered. "I love you, Jake. Really, I do."

"As I love you, Bella."

I didn't have to doubt it. Not even once.

He leaned in to kiss me, but I wanted to be first, and so I was. I kissed him before he could kiss me, and he chuckled and played along. His tongue made familiar patterns in my mouth, and I didn't mind. He could do the same thing he did everyday and I wouldn't mind because it was so nice.

Well, okay, no. That would get boring at some point, even after a while.

Jacob moved his hands up to my hair, and it was then that I realized nothing mattered. Sure, I felt gross and hot, but at least Jacob was more or less like that, too. His shirt was sticking to his back, and the only way to solve this, obviously, would be to take it off. I was such a problem-solver.

I took his shirt off quickly, but he got mine off even sooner. I exhaled softly when a slight breeze brushed against my body, only to be heated again by Jacob's warmth.

"Shit, is the fan on?" he muttered, pulling away to take a breath. "I'm burning up."

I nodded. "Yeah. It's just hot as balls in here, is all." I pushed my lips against his again and he moaned just low enough for me to hear it, but more than enough for me to feel it.

"You know," Jake began, "there's something funny that me and the other couple of guards at the school used to talk about in the employees' lounge."

"And what would that be?" I wondered.

"Spitters are quitters."

"What the hell…?"

"Please tell me you've heard the phrase _Spitters are quitters_ before."

"I've heard it but I never sat down to think about what it means."

He moved his lips to my throat. My breathing hitched. "You don't need to sit down for that," he chuckled. "You only really have to go to your knees."

I finally got it, and I gasped. "Get out," I said. "You do not mean that in the way I think I do."

"I think I do."

I put my hands to the buckle of his belt, and undid it quicker than I could even say, _Spitters are quitters._ Jacob was the kind of guy who knew how to convince people, or I was a terrible influencee. Whichever the case, I wanted to make something out of that phrase. I had nothing to prove, though; I mean, I knew I wasn't a quitter, but….

"Well, shit, Bells," Jake said.

"Sit back," I commanded.

He did so, and I smiled to myself at the sense of power and control. Tugging his jeans down, I smiled. "Alright?" I asked.

"Alright."

* * *

I was not a quitter, and Jacob and I went out to balcony afterwards. I leaned against it, feeling the cool touch against my skin, along with the slight breeze. I was still scorching hot.

"I hope the kids around here didn't see us," I said idly. Looking down at the parking lot below us, I saw plenty of kids of plenty of ages running around, laughing and playing like there wasn't a thing wrong with the world. I would have thought that kids would rest after getting out of school for the summer; I'd thought wrong. They were even more excited.

"If they saw us through my window doing what we did," Jake replied, "then that's their problem since they shouldn't be spying on people, anyway."

I shrugged. "Guess so."

Jacob put an arm around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder, and I took a deep breath, trying to absorb the air as much as possible. It felt like twilight, but the sun wasn't even close to setting. Days like this, the sky wouldn't get completely dark until after nine o'clock, and it was only six now.

"Are you satisfied?" he asked.

"With…?" I prompted.

"Everything. This environment, this lifestyle… Are you satisfied with it?"

I didn't even have to think about it. "Yeah," I said. "I am."

"Alright."

I turned around to face him as I leaned back against the ledge. "What do you mean?" I asked. "I mean, it's not like—"

"It's just average," he admitted. "Really average, to be honest."

I punched him in the stomach. "Shut _up_," I said, exasperated. "I swear to God, Jake…"

"You swear what to God?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I swear to God that if you don't stop worrying, I'll have to give you something to worry about."

"Is that a threat?" he asked sexily, wrapping an arm around my waist.

I playfully pushed him away. "You had better take it as one." I started making my way back into the apartment; he followed me, only to be yelling like a maniac in two seconds.

I quickly turned around. "What the _hell_ just happened!?"

I could see Caderousse scurry away in the corner of my eye. I gave Jacob a look and pursed my lips.

"The cat attacked me, that's what," Jacob said, brushing his hands against the supposed injuries along his legs. He was wearing shorts now, and from what I saw, there was nothing.

"It was just a little brush," I said nonchalantly. "I doubt he really hurt you. Don't be a baby."

He winced. "Why don't you come and look at this, then?"

I rolled my eyes, but I followed him into the living room, where he carefully sat on the couch and made hissing sounds in pain.

"Stop being such a baby," I told him. Then I lifted his leg onto the couch, and—

_Well, shit._

Five long, red lines decorated one of Jacob's hairy, muscular legs. Caderousse had scratched the fuck out of him.

"Oh," I murmured.

"_Oh_," he repeated. "_Oh_. The little shit scratched the hell out of me."

"He is _not_ a little shit," I replied, defending the cat I'd wanted since I'd been a little girl. Well, not particularly _this_ cat, but something close to it. "He's just feisty," I added.

Jacob groaned. "But, _Bells_," he groaned. "It _stings_."

"And what can I do to make it all better?" I cooed at him.

"C'mon, don't make fun of me!"

"I'm not!" I protested. He looked at me seriously, and I maintained a straight face as well until I cracked up, and he cracked up with me. The world's goofiest smile stretched across my face. I most likely looked like an idiot, staring at him like that, like he'd hung the moon himself, like he was literally _everything_ to me (which he kind of was), like the universe was so simple as we were Jake and Bells, limitless and infinite and complicated and lovely.

Nah, I didn't mind looking like an idiot at all. He looked at me the same way.

I played the good nurse for a moment, and once Jacob was partially bandaged and smelling very distinctly of Neosporin, we were back at the couch. Novels were stacked on the coffee table, as sometimes we liked to read, too. The coffee table was like a map of the past, with all its contents like that: there were the older classics, my favorites; historical stories that couldn't even be classified as just _old_, Jake's favorites; the classics that weren't officially defined as classics yet, but would be in a few decades, our favorites. I couldn't decide which novel—or play—to start reading, so I just tuned into the TV, in which Jacob had control of.

"You know what I despise about summer?" he asked, lazily clicking through the channels.

"All the shows suck?" I guessed.

"That, and the fact that all the shows that _don't_ suck are gone."

I sighed. "I know, I know. It's a tragedy. I can't fucking believe _The Office _is over, though."

"It had to go at some point, right?"

"It really didn't have to. I mean, yeah, it wasn't that funny without Michael, but that show. I love that show. Words cannot even come close to explain how much I love that show."

A smug smile decorated Jacob's face. I knew what he'd say: _I win_.

"What do you love the most?" he wondered. "About the show, I mean."

"Two words: Halpert. Beesly. Enough said."

"Okay, so you've joined the cult," Jacob replied. "You're just like everyone else, completely and utterly obsessed with Jim and Pam's relationship."

"It's so _real_," I said, my eyes wide. "Only it's not. The fact that John Krasinski and Jenna Fischer aren't married to each other in real life makes me kinda upset."

"Aww," he cooed mockingly. "You want Jim and Pam to be together _fowever._"

"Get out," I replied. "It's not even like that. I'm not a little kid."

"In all honesty, though," he began on, "you may think you love Jim and Pam together when in reality, you're probably living more of the Ryan and Kelly life."

"Jacob, when you give your child away to a stranger in exchange for me and we run off together into an unknown future, I'll tell you you're right."

He snickered. "It's a deal?" His right hand was held out to me.

I shook his hand firmly. "It is a deal."

* * *

It's one thing to be bored on a Friday night. It's another thing to be bored on a Friday night with the person you love the most. It's a third thing to actually do something about it. That was always the hardest part for me.

An hour later, Jacob and I were sprawled on the floor of the living room. Our sorrows of _The Office_ being over had turned into swallowing those sorrows with glamorized, fruit-flavored cans of beer and a bags of Skittles from the gas station across the street as we watched our beloved show on DVD from the very beginning.

We had come up with a simple drinking game that incorporated Skittles, too: every other time Michael said something stupid, we would have to eat ten Skittles and chase it down with a four-second-long gulp of beer. Within two hours and a little over four episodes, I was already down to my fourth can of beer and third bag of Skittles. Jacob had stopped drinking after his second can. At least we'd bought a lot of stuff, though.

"You can't hang," I chuckled after downing another gulp of beer. I didn't feel very drunk; just warm.

Jake looked like he was gonna be sick in a second; it made me want to laugh, so I did. I laughed and laughed and laughed. I rolled all over the floor and laughed until I cried and knocked over my can of beer and cursed to myself but saw Caderousse come and lick the liquid in the carpet which made me laugh even more. Jacob couldn't hang with me; nobody could. I didn't want him to be like me in the least bit, but it was still hilarious. My heart beat like crazy and everything made me laugh and laugh and laugh until Jake asked what I was laughing about.

"I don't know," I admitted. My speech was slurred, but I had it under control. I knew I did. I could handle myself. "You're just a little baby. You don't know how to handle your liquor."

"I haven't puked yet," he said defensively. "What are you, a binge drinker?"

"Uh-uh," I said. "I just keep on getting better faster." I giggled and started hiccupping, which only made me giggle more.

Michael said something stupid on TV again—either something racist or sexist or even as simple as a _that's what she said_—and I stuffed my hand into the bag of Skittles, grabbed the candies, and clamped my hand over my mouth. "Let's down it," I told Jake, my mouth full of the sweet candies. He didn't even move. Chasing the Skittles down with beer, I choked on one for a bit until it eventually came back up to my throat. Jacob patted my back, and yeah, it hurt like a bitch, but it was _so damn funny_.

I looked down at my hands at one point, and I was pretty sure I was bleeding Skittles. Swirls of the rainbow painted my palms, sticky and sweet and warm. "God," I said.

"What?" Jacob asked tiredly.

"I am a _mess_."

"Yeah," he agreed solemnly. "But at least you're _my_ mess," he added.

I laughed and leaned over to him, putting my lips on his. He tasted syrupy and warm and divine. "Mmm," I moaned against his lips. "You're sweet."

He pulled me closer and kissed me hard, stealing me with his kisses. "So are you," he mumbled.

"Wanna know a secret?" I asked.

"What?"

"I used to be _so_ socially awkward. I didn't know how to talk to anyone the right way. I had, like… Like, two friends."

His hands slid from my hair to my jaw, and they kept going, creeping down my torso and waist, ending up at my hips, cupping around my ass. "Then what happened?" he asked.

"I discovered booze."

"Shit, honey, that's tragic."

I gave him an apologetic half-smile. "Everybody's got a sob story."

"Then why do people tell them?"

"To see if they're still loved. I mean, Jake. Jake… You couldn't let me get all shit-faced alone, could you?"

"It's sad, Bells."

"D-don't judge me for what I do, okay?"

He didn't say anything.

"Jake."

Silence.

"_Jacob._"

Still nothing.

"Don't fucking let me down. Please. _Please._"

"I can't."

I made my voice soft. "Then don't act like it," I said. "Th-things aren't always like this. You know that, right?"

He nodded.

"Alright."

This was ugly; this was _really_ ugly.

This was honest and ugly. Honestly ugly. Unattractively truthful. This always happened when I drank: I was fun and found everything hysterical at first, and then the ugliness came spilling out as quickly as any other girl's vomit would. My heart would blow up, ready to confess anything and not refusing to.

I just didn't need Jacob telling me things I already knew. I especially didn't need him telling me how bad I could get. I'd already had Edward, Garrett, and Quil to do that; Jacob was supposed to be different.

And he was.

Jacob wasn't going to break me down. At least, not tonight and probably not tomorrow night, either. There would one night, though; I knew it.

I took one look at him and grew cold. As I stared at him, I challenged him through my eyes. I waited for his next move, as I had already mine, subtle but decisive.

He kissed me again. He gave me that look for a long second and kissed me again.

_Man_, he loved me. He didn't need fancy hotel rooms or expensive bottles of champagne or dates that cost more than half the monthly rent to prove it; he just needed to give me that iconic look. Iconic, limitless, infinite.

_Divine._

Suddenly, he pulled away and turned down the television's volume so it was nothing more than ineffective background noise. My heart pounded frantically in my chest, and I wasn't sure why. It had to be more than just Jacob, too. My heart wouldn't stop; it couldn't stop. I felt like I had been running for an hour and I still was.

"I want you to be the mother of my children someday."

(It was Jacob who said that; not me. I wasn't that drunk yet.)

_Poundpoundpound. _"You're drunk, Jake. Shut up."

"I am not drunk and I will not shut up. Really, I want you to."

"So now you're totally against what you said about the condoms last April," I said. "Get out." I stuffed my hand into the bags of Skittles again and took out a handful. Sluggishly, I ate the candies one by one. I was starting to feel sick, but I couldn't stop, and it did nothing for my heart. The alcohol wasn't supposed to have that much caffeine in it.

"Our kids would be kinda cute," Jacob pointed out. "C'mon."

"No." _Poundpoundpoundpoundpound._

"But—"

"Do you know how hard it is to carry a baby?"

"It can't be that ha—"

"It is."

"C'mon, Bells."

"I am _not_ getting pregnant." My heart wouldn't fucking stop.

"Our kids would be cute," he offered.

"That's not a good reason." _Poundpoundpound._

"I'll marry you."

I was wordless.

"Really," he went on. His eyes were sparkling like he'd just gotten the best idea ever, even as it was probably the worse. "I'll marry you and we can move out of this place to somewhere in Seattle and we don't have to have kids but we'll be happy together."

I still refused to say anything. I could hear my heartbeat over the sound of the television.

"You remember what I said about Seattle?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Seattle is bigger and better."

"And brighter," I added.

"Right. Bigger, better, and brighter. Don't you want to start a new life there? This one is so… average."

"We are not having this conversation again," I said. "I am perfectly satisfied right now. I…" I looked around the apartment, hesitating so my words wouldn't come out so ugly. "I have a nice job and a nice home and a cat I've always wanted and I live with the man that I love more than anything."

"That's nice," he replied, "but that's all it really is. _Nice_. Don't you want more? God, Bells, I remember how things were from the start. You always wanted the things you couldn't have, but now we can sort of have the things you wanted. Why have less when you can have more?"

Tears started burning in my eyes. It hurt—a lot—and it did no favors for my heart. It was going to explode. "Jacob, I said _no_!" I exclaimed.

He blinked twice.

"I don't _want_ more right now. Shit, I just want to live happily. You're talking to me like we're poor, when really, we're not. We are not fucking poor. I know what poor looks like—I've been there, and so have you. It sucks, right? But right now, we are not poor. We make enough to get by, and I'm fine with that. But, Jacob…" I took a deep breath, and my heart didn't slow down or skip a beat. Not even once. "You make it sound like it's not enough," I said. "You make it sound like _I'm_ not enough. Sure, this is average, living in South Everett and all, but it's not boring. Nothing is ever boring for me when I'm with you, but you don't sound like that's the same way for you with me."

He didn't say anything, which must have meant that he still wanted to listen to me.

"I don't want to 'settle,'" I stated, with air quotes. "I don't want to move away and get married so quickly and have kids. My mom—you remember her? She's a total bitch—got married so young and had me so young, and nothing worked out. She's been married, like, three times now, and engaged over twice as much. She's never fucking happy because she 'settled.'" More air quotes. I hated that word so much; it left a bad taste on my tongue. "Jacob, _I don't care_ that we live in South Everett. It's a little ghetto, but _I don't care_. And I _really don't care_ about how we're just getting by. You know how I am: I don't care about money. God, I don't care about anything anymore because I'm _happy_. I am so fucking happy, and you make it sound like you don't love me. I mean, big fucking deal, but aren't we past pretending?" The tears were running down my face now, and there was no stopping them. "Shit, Jake," I added usefully.

He then wrapped his arm around me. "Honey, I'm _sorry_. I am _so_ sorry. I never mean to push you into anything."

"Then why _do_ you!?" I demanded. "It's just _so _fucking stress—"

"I only want more because I wanna give you more. That's all. I just wanna give you the entire world and more. I mean, why shouldn't I? I just…" His words trailed off and he just stared at me.

I was looking down at my hands. They were shaking. I was crying and shaking and my heart was about to _explode_. I couldn't try to hide it anymore; I was breathing hard. "Fucking hell," I gasped.

"Honey," he said urgently. "Are you alright?"

I shook my head. "N-n-no. My—my… Heart. Too… Too fast. Shit."

He placed his hand over my heart for a second and then got up quickly. "Stay right there," he ordered me. I couldn't say anything back. Everything was spinning way too fast. Either my heart was going so fast I couldn't feel it, or it had stopped completely. I was pretty sure I was about to die and this was going to suck and there were black spots in my vision and _fuck_, Charlie would be so disappointed and I—

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

I put my right hand out to turn off my alarm, but I was held back by something. And how had my alarm gotten so quiet, anyway?

_Wait, that's not my alarm clock._

I slowly opened my eyes, and I couldn't find one familiar thing in this room. It was cold and uncomfortable and terribly clean. I was in a hospital room. More likely the emergency room, though. And there was something holding my right hand. Or someone…

I turned to my left, and it hurt a bit because my head was hammering almost as bad as my heart had been last night, but there was Jacob. Next to me. Holding my hand. Now looking up because—_surprise!_—I'd woken up.

"Oh, honey," he sighed.

"Hey," I said groggily, my mouth tasting sour and gross. My heart was okay now, but I had a massive hangover. I felt sick.

"I am so fucking glad you're alright," he said softly. "How do you feel?"

"My heart's okay but I have a hangover."

"Oh."

"Wh-what happened?" I asked uneasily. "I mean, what am I in for?"

He sighed softly. "You fainted because of your heart palpitations," he informed me. "They were caused by stress, anxiety, and too much caffeine. Especially too much caffeine. I shouldn't have let you get so much alcohol."

"I shouldn't have drunk so much."

"I shouldn't have gotten you all worked up."

I felt compelled to tell him to stop talking because it really was my fault, but I didn't. I let him take the blame. "You shouldn't have," I agreed.

He refused to let go of my hand, and he kissed it. He kissed it softly and delicately.

"It was… terrifying," he said dully. "I hated it. I thought you were gonna die. After I called nine-one-one, I went back to the living room, and you were out. Just out. And I…" His voice was shaking and there were tears in his eyes. "And on the way to the ER, I stuck with you. I was just… just sitting there. I swear to God, you were dead. You were all cold and unmoving and it scared the shit out of me. And it was kind of a long drive, too. I… I didn't know what to do. So I started reading something to you."

With his left hand, he pulled out a folded sheet of paper and set it down next to me, on the bed. A small smile was on his face now. "I didn't know how long you'd be here," he said, "and I didn't know what to bring. I wanted to bring you one of your favorite books, but you've got a lot of favorites." I laughed weakly, and he laughed with me. "So I brought this," he said, unfolding the piece of paper. I saw the neat, cursive handwriting. "It's a letter… the letter from your grandma."

I blinked. "Jake."

"I know," he said, "but… But I thought you liked it. In the ambulance, you kinda responded. Okay, no, that sounds cheesy, but… I swear you knew I was reading this letter to you. I just knew it."

I felt like I was about to cry, but I tried to smile instead. I probably looked pathetic, but he just gave my hand a squeeze. "And I read it again," he added, "while they were working on you. They had to pump your stomach, too. I mean, they told me that heart palpitations go away on their own, but it took a while for you, and you still had a lot of alcohol in your system. Too much sugar, too."

"Oh," I murmured.

"But I still read the letter to you, and I think you kinda responded again."

In all honesty, I couldn't remember anything from last night after fainting, but this was still sweet. In fact, no—_sweet_ couldn't even cover it. It was such a tiny word. I couldn't find the right word to describe Jacob yet, because he was so indefinable, but when I would find that word, I knew it would be beautiful. I knew it would be magnificent. Sometimes life just didn't have a big enough vocabulary.

"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you so much, Jake."

"You don't have to thank me," he replied. "You… you almost died."

"Then thanks for not letting me die alone. Alright, Jake?"

He looked at me for a moment, but eventually nodded. Then he leaned over and kissed me on the lips, as light as a feather. It made my heart flutter, but not in a scary way.

"Alright," he sighed.

I didn't want to avoid the things I didn't like by doing this. It was selfish, and it made me feel guilty, too, which I deserved. I knew the conversation of marriage and moving away and starting a new life would come up again, but I also knew that I couldn't accidentally put myself in the emergency room to avoid it. However, maybe this would keep the new subjects out of Jacob's mind for a while. I could only hope so.

* * *

_**A/N: **__Okay, I have some things to confess (and ask):_

_-I have a chapter itinerary, and the last few bits of this chapter weren't on it. _

_-I am so, so, so, so, SO sorry I haven't been updating very quickly. Life has hit me really hard. _

_-Exams are coming up so I'll probably still be updating slowly._

_-I think I'm falling for someone._

_-I really love you guys, though._

_-There are only a few chapters left. I'm going to about twenty-two chapters, but I hate that number and I don't know why, so it might go to twenty-three. _

_-Is there anything else you guys really, really, really want to see? Do you have any burning questions? Would you like for those burning questions to be answered? This story is just as much your story as it is mine._

_-I still love you guys._

_Stay rad, be awesome, review, you know the drill,_

_MTL. xo_


	18. Chapter Eighteen

_**A/N: **__All of these fanfics are starting to blend together at some point… Enjoy!_

_OH. Okay. So. Don't enjoy just yet. I'm adding this note on. Chapter eighteen was originally going to be really long. About twice as long as this. But I was like, "OH GOD NO, MY READERS WOULD DIE." So this is just part one of chapter eighteen._

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

On Sunday, July fourteenth, I lit a cigarette for the first time since November. I also drank for the first time in a month, after the insane heart palpitations. I'd always been bad with keeping habits; I didn't know how, and I didn't have the desire to. All the bad things that had happened were _just bad days._ Today wasn't going to be a bad day.

As if it could get any worse, I meant.

If I looked on the positive side, though, this wasn't all that bad. I wasn't drinking anything crazy; it was just champagne. It was extra-bubbly, expensive champagne meant for the poor who wanted to drink like the rich. In my months—almost a year, actually—of existing in the living, breathing, _real_ world and those who inhabited it, I'd learned that everything was a deception. Everything. There was no denying it, that was for sure. I'd never really tasted the backlash of reality in Shady Pointe, and that was only because there _wasn't_ one; I'd lived in a fantasy—not a very happy one—that I'd rarely gotten out of.

If there was anything that I was absolutely positive about—and willing to think about at the moment—it was that this was _real_. This wasn't a play or a show or a movie; this was vivid. Colorful. Treacherous. Terrifying. Beautiful, even. It was all sorts of things but it was authentic, at most. Genuine, authentic, and undeniably _real_.

I was also absolutely positive in the fact that reality and happiness were not good company for each other. All I could do was look back on the times where they were….

* * *

Since the initial talk of it, Jacob didn't mention the death words, as in: _move_, _family, kids, marriage, settle_—God, anything _but_ that word—etc. to me. He jokingly claimed that he wouldn't want me to have a heart attack, but I knew it was because _he_ knew that it scared me. I wasn't scared of commitment at all; I was scared of what I would become afterward.

So, overall, things were pretty chill. Life went on, as always. That was what I loved the most about the real world, or living with Jacob: life just continued, uninterrupted by the little things. Jacob and I continued going to work for those hot summer days, and we would unwind for hours those nights.

July tenth had been a long day. It was a Wednesday, and by far the hottest day of the year. As soon as I entered the apartment, Jacob greeted me with a kiss… well, more than that.

Naturally, we started making out. We weren't always a responsible, solid couple who greeted each other with innocent, familiar hugs and kisses. Today was different.

We stumbled to our bedroom, and once we were there, I took the chance to catch my breath. "Not bad for a Wednesday," I said airily before putting my lips to his once more. He lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. I guessed he was trying to find a place to get solid, but he ended up bumping into the door of our closet. It was then that the loudest crash happened, and I groaned.

"Dammit, Jake," I said. "Knocking over shit. And I thought _I_ was the klutz."

"Shit, sorry," he muttered. He set me down and opened the closet door to investigate the mess. Boxes and boxes of papers were everywhere. I went to my knees to help pick everything up, but—

"Oh my God," I breathed. The letters slipped through my fingers; I just couldn't hold onto them.

"Are those the letters?" Jake asked.

I nodded, speechless. I tried to find the right words to say, but I couldn't. And I didn't have to.

It wasn't like I hadn't seen the letters from Gran in my life; I just hadn't seen them in the longest time. After initially receiving them last March and reading through them once, I hadn't read them again. I'd put them away, totally idle in my mind. It made me feel guilty; in fact, no—it made me feel _terrible_. They even had a return address.

"Wow," I said, still staring down at the letters. "We should visit her. I mean, the return address is right here. She… she lives in Vegas."

"You really wanna visit her?" Jacob asked.

I looked up at him and nodded. "We should."

"Let's go."

"We're gonna go?"

"We're gonna go."

"Then let's go."

And so we went.

Well, not exactly.

I couldn't sleep that night; I had this never-ending, nonstop war in my mind that couldn't rest. I wasn't sure if I was excited, and I wasn't sure if I was nervous, either. I didn't know what to expect. In fact, I didn't even have a plan. A while ago, I'd had plans. Not huge life-changing plans, but plans for the small things. My roaring indecisiveness wasn't silent; it just whirred and whirred and whirred until it completely took over my mind and compelled me to wake up at three in the morning and drive. I didn't have a plan for that, either, so I just drove.

I ended up at a store. It was a weird, old vintage store that seemed like it would only be open at three in the morning, anyway. It was a lost store right on the outside of town. It was a store of variety. It was a store that could change itself. My kind of store.

I felt strangely nostalgic as I roamed the store. There was only one employee, but it wasn't that small of a place. I could go wherever I wanted, only to know that that one employee—an older women in a dress straight out of the sixties and gray hair down her back—would always be there, waiting, watching.

I wasn't sure where the nostalgia came from—I mean, I wasn't ever really sure of anything—but that feeling quickly turned to sickness. I always felt sick nowadays. I wasn't drunk or high. I hadn't put anything bad in my body in over a month. I just felt… _wrong_. So wrong that it effected my stomach.

I felt like a suburban Barbie again, only more degenerate. Darker. Off. I didn't feel suburban at all. I sure as hell didn't feel like a Barbie, because Barbies were perfect. Maybe the reason why I felt so wrong was because that wasn't me anymore. It just wasn't. I had responsibilities now. I had a _life _now. I didn't know what or where my hopes and dreams were, but somewhere and somehow, I had them.

Maybe my little crown of self-referential supremacy had been crushed under the weight of reality.

Yeah, I was definitely sure about that.

* * *

I slipped back into Jacob's arms an hour and a half later that morning, after showering to shake the sick feeling. The blue dawn was barely rising, and I could only focus on getting back to sleep and starting the day over. It was time to go back to zero and do things right.

I reawakened much later that morning, and Jacob wasn't next to me. I could hear his voice from the other room, and when I paid attention to what he was saying, it sounded like he was talking to someone on the phone.

I climbed out of bed and padded off to the living room. Jacob was sitting on the couch, the phone in his hands.

"What was that?" I asked.

"That was me getting the rest of the week off," he replied with a smile.

"_Damn_," I remarked, taking the phone from his hands and dialing my own office. "Smooth, Black."

As I called my own boss to get the rest of the week off, though I should have requested for it a long time ago, Jacob sifted through a plastic bag on the coffee table. From the bag, he pulled out a blonde wig with bangs, a black mustache, two pairs of sunglasses, and a Polaroid camera older than me, and he just laughed.

Smiling, I put my finger to my lips. "Shhh…"

After just barely getting the okay from my boss, I rushed back to my old bedroom—the small one I started in—and lugged a suitcase from my closet. It was big and the brightest shade of pink I'd ever seen. In a hurry, I pulled the suitcase across the hall to my current bedroom and tugged down my pajama bottoms.

Jacob entered the room, his eyes wide and his hands up as if he was totally surprised. I knew he was a little confused, but he couldn't have been that surprised. "Whoa there," he said. "What's going on?"

"Jake, we're going to Vegas," I said sternly as I threw heaps of clothes into my bag. After throwing over half my wardrobe into the bag, I made my way to the bathroom to get my toothbrush, and Jacob followed me.

"Aren't we gonna do this with some kind of order?" he asked. "Honey, you're scaring me."

I paced back to our bedroom, and Jacob just leaned against the doorframe. "I mean—"

"Don't think about it," I told him, pulling a pair of leather shorts over my thighs. "Just… uh… just pack up everything you have. Okay? Jake, we don't need _order_. We need… we need to get the hell out. Alright?"

He stared at me from the doorframe and bit his bottom lip for a second. It was so obvious: he thought I was crazy; I could read him like a book. He thought I was crazy and he wasn't sure why he loved me, but he did. That was a funny thing with Jacob Black: he loved me, he loved me, _he loved me._ I wasn't sure why—and he probably wasn't, either—but he thought I was crazy and he was just crazy enough continue to love me.

"Alright," he replied.

I smiled. There was nothing wrong with being crazy as long as I had someone along for the ride.

* * *

Jacob casually stroked his new, fake mustache as he leaned against the back of the truck, and I just laughed at him, tossing my suitcase into the bed of the truck, on top of the blankets. I wasn't sure if the truck was going to make it to Las Vegas and back in one piece, but we sure as hell would try.

"Are the blankets really that necessary?" he'd asked.

"Of course!" I'd replied. "Why would you ask such a question?"

"We have enough money for a—"

"Ah, ah, ah. I'll explain the rules to you later."

It was now later—or at least, _almost_ later—and Jacob continued to stroke his mustache. I was convinced he'd gotten used to the feeling.

"You look like a bad-ass cop," I said teasingly.

His hands still attached to the furry thing, he suddenly reminded me of Charlie, so I silently took that back.

I ran my fingers through my own new disguise—a long, blonde wig with blunt bangs—and asked what he thought.

Contemplating, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Well, I'd never thought you'd go blonde, but it's cute." He played with my bangs. "Even cuter than I'd thought it would be."

Standing in my black leather shorts, white t-shirt, old black Converse, and red leather jacket, blonde wig, and heavy makeup, I certainly felt different. Younger, brighter… better. When I actually thought about it, I felt celestial.

"Cute," I replied simply, lifting up the Polaroid camera in my hands. "Smile!" I said.

Jacob smiled (and he wasn't that hard on the eyes, either, as if he ever was) and I waited for the photo to develop after it came out, fanning it. I gave it a look, and then showed it to Jacob. "Excellent," I stated. "Let's head out."

And so we did.

* * *

I didn't know how to read a map, but Jacob wouldn't give me directions because I needed to "learn myself since I was driving," so we started on the wrong way and stayed like that. We were on our way west, towards the coast, when I decided to make something—something not particularly as nice as lemonade—out of the lemons of this situation.

"We should just fuck up Edward's place, Jacob."

"You're crazy."

"It only gives us more excuse to do it."

"We're gonna get caught."

_By Kate and Garrett? As if. _"Not even. Like, nobody lives there. I thought we were going places, Jake. I thought we were gonna have more fun."

"No, no, no, Bells, we can get arrested for breaking and entering any day you want. But today is not that day."

"Then that's highly unfortunate for you because we're doing it. No one's gonna recognize us. Don't you get it?" I gestured to the new hair on my head. "I don't look like me. You don't look like you. Even if anybody were to be there, we'd still be alright."

"But who's gonna bail us out?"

"So it's a yes," I decided.

Jacob sighed. "Fine," he surrendered, "but _who_ is going to bail us out?"

"Probably Charlie."

He sighed again. "Probably Charlie," he repeated reluctantly. "First the hospital, then jail? He's gonna kill me. He's gonna drive all the way to Everett to kill me in my sleep for—"

"You never had a duty, okay?" I asked. "He never gave me away and went, 'Look, Jacob, you're gonna take care of my daughter and make sure nothing happens to her.' Because, shit, Jake, something happened to me. We're gonna be fine. But, hey, we're not across Puget Sound yet. If you're that scared, I can turn around and drop you off back home, but that'd be unsuccessful."

"Tongue-lashing, much?"

I widened my eyes, still staring at the road. "Get _out_ of here!" I said, frustrated. "You're being a robot again and I hate it. You hear me, Jake? I _hate it_ when you go nuts like this. Stop. Worrying. Please. Just once. When we come back, we can worry all you want. Alright?"

"Alright."

"Al-_right_?" I asked, louder.

"_Alright._"

"ALRIGHT?" I yelled.

"ALRIGHT, BELLA."

"Love you."

I turned to him and smiled, but his face was slightly pissed. He looked cute when he was mad, though. "Love you more," he said.

"Love you most," I replied.

"Love you like John Green loves to kill off his best characters."

"…Shit." Jacob and I were about to pay to board the ferry to get to Kingston, and then drive to Forks, but then I asked if he had the letters.

He pointed down. "Yup."

"They are not in your fucking pants," I guffawed.

"Bella, they are at the floor."

"Gotcha."

* * *

The wait for the ferry wasn't at all short—and it was probably longer than the ride, too—so Jacob and I just had to wait and wait _and wait_. My fingers impatiently tapped on the steering wheel, even as the radio wasn't on.

"Is it later yet?" Jacob wondered. "Because I'm still wondering about your so-called 'rules'"—yes, he used air-quotes—"and to put things nicely, it's eating me alive."

"Oh, the rules," I said, reminiscing.

"Yes, the rules."

"Well, what do you want to know?"

"Bells, I wanna know the rules. For this trip, I mean."

"Okay. So. First things first," I began. "No worrying. It kills my vibe; it kills your vibe. We don't need it."

"Fine."

"No, I can't take just a _fine_," I said, not settling. "That's the most important rule. I want you to _beg on your knees_ for me to believe and trust you. I want you to sign a paper of dedication to me _in your blood_. I want you to die for this. Die for my love. Okay?"

"Alright, I've got you on that one. Hit me up tonight."

"Rule number two," I continued, "is that we're not turning around until I get my answers. I… I know this is kind of a selfish thing," I admitted, "but you think _my_ lack of explanation is eating _you_ alive? Jake, you don't even know. I need this. Gran's been writing to me for, like… years. So I'm not giving up. That's it. And quite frankly, I think you need to get away, too. You've been in Washington for all your life. It's time to get up and get out. We're in a labyrinth and it's time to solve it.

"Rule number three is that we are _not_ getting a hotel room on this trip. Pointblank. End of story. We don't need it. That's why I threw all those blankets in the back. We don't need a fucking hotel room. That's limiting. No, it's not even that; it's just _lame. _It's wrong. We're gonna do it like they do it on the Discovery channel, but with condoms, and to be honest, I can't imagine a better way to make love to the man I love other than in the Las Vegas desert under the stars. The sound of crickets isn't all that bad.

"Rule number four is that we are going to take a shitload of pictures. Yeah, the camera only cost me, like, three bucks, but I think it's lovely. It's beautiful. In fifty years when I'm surrounded by my grandchildren, they're gonna ask me, 'Gramma Bella, what'd _you_ do when you were young? When _you_ were unwrinkled and young and beautiful, where did _you_ go? Where did _you_ bang Grampa?' Well, okay, they won't wanna hear that answer, but we're gonna tell them through pictures. When I'm seventy-something, surrounded by my grandchildren, I'm gonna slap one of these pictures down and go, 'Bam. Your Grampa had a fake mustache that I thought was hot. We had sex in the bed of my truck to soft grunge on the radio. It was a blast.'

"Rule number five is that we're going to _live_. This is incredibly cheesy—and karma-inducing—but it's so true, Jacob. We have to _live_. We have to live and love and find out about ourselves on this trip, because being cooped up in Everett obviously didn't do the job." I slammed my hands onto the steering wheel; I saw him jump a little from the corner of my eye. "Can't you see it, Jake!?" I demanded. "We are in a labyrinth! A labyrinth of distress because _we don't know what we want._ God, I love that word. It's my new favorite word. I love words. But still. We're stuck. We want to figure out what we want but we don't have time for it, and at the same time, we're lying to ourselves by saying we think we know exactly what we want and who we want to be, but it's clear. It's _so clear_, Jake.

"I mean, sure, we can _act _like we're kids, but that doesn't mean we are. This isn't like any of the books we read together for the past ten months; we're not sixteen-year-olds with nothing to do. We are twenty-one-year-olds with too much shit to do and too little time to waste, but we waste the little time we have anyway because we _can_ and didn't waste the _right_ amount of time when we were sixteen because shit, Jake, when we were sixteen, we were too busy _growing up_ to go nuts and now that we're grown up—or so we _think_—we can go nuts when we couldn't before even as we're now going very strategically, controlled misplaced nuts.

"I mean, shit, it's not like I'm gonna die. Holy _fuck_, I can't even think about that right now; I keep remembering I have adult shit to do. But I'm not gonna die any time soon. I mean, if anything, all this crap I was going on with about talking to my grandchildren will probably be true. I can us all old and gray… sorta. But this conversation's for another day. But Jake… damn, Jake, we've gotta live. We've gotta live hard and fast now since we missed our chance at the perfect moment. I always used to think we had nothing in common but now I get it. I really fucking get it: _we both missed out on everything_. Well, that doesn't mean we get to miss out now. It's never too late; there's always room for improvement. We always make things work. We _always_ make up for what we missed. It's how we grew up; how could we pass school if we couldn't make up the things we missed? Second chances are alive and _real_. I just want to be _real_ for once, too. I've been, like… a robot. A doll. It's not right and it's time to change. It is never too late to change."

I sighed and turned to Jacob. His eyes were ahead of us, on the road, but he had a thoughtful expression on his face, not like he'd been zoning out.

"You feel me?"

Nodding slowly, he replied, "I feel you. Bells, look at us. He gestured to the rusty hunk of metal surrounding us. "This truck in itself is a labyrinth. This ferry terminal is a labyrinth. _Life_ is a labyrinth, and the only way to get out of that is to die, but we're not going to because, like you said, you're going to show our grandchildren the pictures of where we banged in our younger, brighter days. But I feel you. I feel you better than anyone."

I snickered and leaned over to kiss him. "Someone's looking to have sex tonight," I said teasingly against his throat.

"Mmm," he hummed. I felt the vibration against my lips, and finally kissed him, right on the Adam's apple. He put his hand in my hair.

"You were never really this talkative," he observed. "You just talked more in the last few minutes than you have in the first month of living with me."

"Don't know why?" I asked. "I finally know the right things to say."

* * *

In a matter of hours, I stood in the ever-so-vacant parking lot of Shady Pointe and stared up at the collection of apartments for the first time in ten months. I could smell the weed in the air so much I nearly choked on it.

"I really don't miss this place," I murmured absentmindedly, and I didn't. It was very much so a dump. My very own pretty party nation, though in the sober light, it didn't look so pretty.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I knew I had to do something, _anything_, to let Edward know that I hadn't burnt out. No way. I hadn't burnt out at all. I wanted to let Edward know that I was different, but he had to remember me. Of course he'd have to. I wanted him to remember me, and I wouldn't prefer if he missed me, but he would always, always, always remember me. I was the best thing to happen to him, and he was the worst—and best, in a way—thing to happen to me.

So I trekked up the concrete steps to the second floor, and Jacob trailed behind me, silent. I followed the line of seasonally inappropriate Christmas lights, making note of the rest of the Christmas lights that went between the next three doors over, to Kate and Garrett's apartment. I would have to visit them sometime… or at least just Kate. Out of the three people I'd left behind, I didn't want her to hate me. Edward could hate me. Garrett could _really_ hate me. But Kate couldn't hate me. It wasn't in her nature, anyway; she didn't really hate anyone.

But that would be for a different day, and today was not that day. Holding my breath, I approached Edward's front door, the smell of weed even more dominant, and twisted the door knob. Of course it was unlocked. It was always unlocked.

I entered the apartment and exhaled to find that nobody was home. Not even the television was on as I stood in the doorway, stepping on garbage already. In fact, all I could hear was the faint sound of flies buzzing. It was like it was the zombie apocalypse and I was one of the only survivors. I felt like Rick Grimes.

"Shit," Jacob scoffed. "Does he even _live_ here anymore? It smells terrible. No, _diabolical_."

I really wished I could temporarily lose my sense of smell, because the odor truly was diabolical, but I couldn't. "I doubt it," I replied. "I guess he's just… gone."

I stepped more into the apartment, which wasn't much, but I was in the living room. Edward had apparently lost his television, too. The little box that had once had a permanent location on the floor of his living room was now gone, with a faint print of a square left on the carpet.

I took another glance around the apartment—it truly was a ghost town in here. The only sign of Edward was the mess that had always been here, so it wasn't really his. There was only the scent of cigarettes, sweat, weed, and trash. For all I knew, maybe Edward hadn't been around in a long time. Maybe he was across the country… or dead. Oh, _God! _He could have died alone. He could have died alone in a cold, disgusting apartment and rotted away only to be found by Kate or Garrett or the landlord or anyone else and have to be taken away. In fact, I bet he was still rotting away, in his bedroom. Or no one had bothered to clean his home. I bet he'd died in the streets. I bet his own father had been too busy to go to the funeral. He'd always been too busy for everything. I bet he'd made his mother cry. I could see Mrs. Cullen now, crying and crying _and crying_ her eyes out for days. I could see everything in my head, but out in the real world, there was nothing. Nothing at all but an old, vacant apartment that held too many secrets and too little things to be proud of.

And at the same time, the apartment in itself was more real than Edward had ever been.

So maybe I didn't have to leave my mark. He didn't have to remember me if he would ever come back because I was already here. Somewhere in the dark blue carpet, my tears were stained in it. _Our_ tears, _our_ blood, _our_ everything… I wouldn't be surprised if his semen was imprinted somewhere in the carpet, either, whether it was during a time with me or with somebody else. This truly was our place, or it had been… but not anymore. Definitely not anymore.

And there was still no mark to leave. It was already here.

"Let's just go," I told Jacob, turning to face him. "There's nothing to do here."

"I thought we were gonna fuck this place up."

I shook my head no. "We… we don't have to. It's already fucked up. I don't think I have anything else to say."

"Alright."

"Alright."

It was then that I remembered what I'd last told Edward. It was pathetic, how I'd told it, but I'd told plenty of pathetic things over Facebook over the years. If only I'd _really_ known what it meant, though, back then. I hadn't known a thing about real pain.

_Parting is such sweet sorrow._

And sweet, it was, even so as it was bitter.

* * *

The radio in the truck had terrible reception wherever I went, and we couldn't even find music stations, anyway. Oh, and Jacob had forgotten to bring any CDs, he'd claimed, though I didn't think he'd planned on it, anyway. He did bring one novel, though: none other than _Looking for Alaska._ It was our new classic. We knew—okay, really, _Jake_ knew—this wasn't a great American classic for young adults yet, but it would be. I'd heard it was even being taught in schools. Maybe the newer generations wouldn't be so fucked up, after all.

So, yes, we had one novel. Just one. It wasn't the best thing out there (God, it wasn't _The Count of Monte Cristo_, for crying out loud), but it was far (_way_ far) from the worst. So as I drove, Jacob read out loud to me and sometimes stopped to take pictures.

"'Just as the Bradys were getting locked in jail,'" he recited, the weathered (and terrible dog-ear-folded) book down in his hands, "'Lara randomly asked me, _Have you ever gotten a blow—'" _Okay, Bella, I am not going to read this."

I howled with laughter. "Why not!?" I asked with a silly grin on my face. "It's a way of life!"

"This isn't the kind of book you read aloud," he said. "Because if it was, more people would do it, but it's not. No one wants to hear about Pudge getting a blow job from a cute Romanian girl."

"You're wrong," I told him. "No wants to _recite_ Pudge getting a blow job from a cute Romanian girl. I'm not prudish about it, and besides, it's funny as hell but so, so true."

"That's the thing about _Looking for Alaska_," he agreed. "Its truthfulness. You just have to take the book as it is, and if you deny any part of it then you're denying the entire essence of the book. Then again, if you're looking to bust the truthfulness for it being 'inappropriate', then this probably isn't the right book for you, anyway."

"Jacob Black, there is absolutely no reason to contradict yourself."

"It's not about contradicting myself, milady," he replied. "It's about realizing my mistakes and fixing them while I can. That kind of stuff doesn't last forever, you know."

I did know. I really did. More than anyone, I knew about what lasted forever and what didn't. I was sure of it.

"You're not always wrong," I decided. "Sometimes you're right."

From the corner of my eye, I could see him flash a big, white grin. It was charismatic. Infinite. Limitless. It was Jacob Black.

_**To be continued in Chapter Eighteen, Part Two (aka Chapter Nineteen)…**_

* * *

_**A/N: **__I missed you guys so much. Oh my gosh. But yes, that was the chapter (or at least part of it). I couldn't keep stretching it. But fortunately, I am finally out of school. Praise the lawd. I'm so happy. Expect much more from me…_

_I love love love love love love love you guys so so so so so so so so much (and read "Looking for Alaska" while you're at it),_

_MTL. xoxo_


	19. Chapter Nineteen

_**A/N: **__Only a few chapters left. Let's get it rollin'. Here's chapter nineteen / chapter eighteen, part two._

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

In the darkness, I whispered to Jacob, "Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful?" It was cheesy, but I wanted to know.

It was the next night, Friday the twelfth. In fact, it might have even been Saturday morning—it was still dark out—but I couldn't be sure. Jacob and I were in the desert of Nevada now, after long hours of driving, but not particularly Vegas. The map said we were close. But to be specific (and at the same time, not specific), we were in the middle of nowhere, and I didn't mind.

To say that it was warm outside would be an understatement; it was _hot_. It was a hot summer night in mid-July, but I felt good. I felt forever wild, or at least temporarily, with Jacob next to me. As we lay in the bed of my truck, on one of the blankets, we stared up at the stars. This just wasn't something I could get in Everett, with all the clouds. This was gorgeous.

"Now you're making me feel bad for not wanting to see _The Great Gatsby_ with you," he finally replied.

Still looking up at the stars, I said, "No, I'm serious."

"Yes, I will still love you when you are no longer young and beautiful."

My old primadonna heart twanged.

"I knew you'd say that," I told him.

"How?"

"I just did, and I wanted to be sure."

"Alright."

"Alright."

There was a moment of silence until I turned to Jacob, a hand on his chest, and asked if he was scared.

"What would I be scared of?"

"The future."

"Bells, there's…" He hesitated. "There's nothing scary about the future. It's all in your head, well, most of the time. It's all about how you make it."

"I just want to make it okay."

"And you will. God, Bella. Look at you. You're gonna make it."

"If I were to look into a mirror," I began, "what would I see? What would convince me that I'm gonna make it?"

He contemplated that for a moment, and then finally brought his eyes away from the stars and to my own eyes. "You're smart," he told me, and then planted a kiss on my cheek. "And gorgeous." On the other cheek. _"So fucking challenging."_ On the nose. "But in the best way possible." On the throat. "And you always, always, _always_ give me a chance." And finally, on the lips.

The sweet, seductive voice on the radio droned on and on, and I really did want to pay attention to the lyrics because it seemed like a good song, but I could only hear my heart pounding in my ears. Too bad, so sad.

Jacob was kissing me, and I didn't want him to pull away. We didn't have forever—because what really _was_ forever, anyway?—but we certainly did have time. That was all it took. Just a little time.

We sat up, and for the first time since we'd left, he slowly pulled my wig from my head. I took my hair from its ponytail and shook it out. Sure, it was okay to be someone else for a while, but I was finally me again. I liked it.

I brought my mouth to Jacob again, and slowly licked his cheek; he tasted salty, and it was then that I realized we hadn't showered in over a day. We were going to do it like they did it on the Discovery channel, alright.

Jacob tucked my hair behind my ear and stared at me, long and hard. I could see his beautiful features perfectly in the light of the stars. I was obsessed with perfection, and maybe I didn't have to be, but it was hard not to, especially once after having a taste of it. And what a great taste that was.

I pulled his shirt off his body, and he quickly did the same to mine, and then unhooked my bra. Pressing my bare torso to his, I couldn't feel awkward. I just couldn't—this was everything and nothing at all. As the radio continued to murmur as background noise to our syncopated breathing, I could feel his heart beat to mine, and it was on point. It pounded just as much as mine did, and it made me grateful. I'd always thought he could stay under control, as _I_ couldn't, but that wasn't the case anymore. I made Jacob nervous, too. I made him nervous and excited and exhilarated all at once, and that was the best power and control I could ever have.

I slowly slid down to my back, and with Jacob hovered over me, he was beautiful. _God_, he was marvelous. I traced the defined line of his jaw with my fingers, and he cautiously brought his lips down to mine again. One of his hands cupped my breast, squeezing tenderly, and the other was placed just above the button of my shorts, and my abdomen fluttered like the entire butterfly garden in Seattle was inside of it. My own hands traced the muscles of his torso, and I felt him shiver a bit, and not because of the cold.

It was like the world was spinning in slow motion; everything inside of me was racing like it was in a marathon, but everything on the outside was slow. It was the image of deception. Our movements were relaxed, steady… and they didn't have to be altered in any way. Things were better. If there was anything I'd learned from Jacob (which was, okay, half-true, since I did learn a lot from him), it was that there was always room for improvement. The world was full of second chances, even as they didn't last forever.

My fingers smoothly ran through his hair as our lips worked as one part. One piece. One machine. How he used his soft lips made my head spin, and I knew. I knew for sure. Jacob loved me. He would always love me, no matter how much I selfishly denied his wishes for a different life.

That night, I became graceful. I was no longer just myself. He was no longer himself. We were no longer Jacob and Bells; we were one, and we were also utterly, completely, undeniably infinite.

* * *

The white sun blared hot and bright. This was genuine; life wasn't a fantasy anymore. As far as I knew, I was handling it well. Jacob, however, was a different topic. As in, he was freaking out over something else entirely.

"She'll love you," I assured Jacob. "Even if it doesn't seem like it at first, she'll love you. I know she will."

"I have a feeling your grandma's gonna eat me alive, Bells."

"Well, she's not. Just don't be sarcastic. She's always _hated_ that. I would know; I mastered sarcasm by the age of eight, but she forgave me."

"Got it."

"But other than that, Jake," I said, "she'll love you. If she were to be mad at anyone, it'd be my parents."

It was Saturday morning (almost the afternoon, really), we were driving to Las Vegas now, and we were almost there. I could almost taste it; the upcoming lines of casinos sounded promising. I'd heard tons of tales from Renee about Gran, and I could imagine her thriving here. I laughed to myself.

I'd gotten ready this morning so excitedly. I'd ditched my wig (whereas Jacob kept his ridiculous cop mustache) and tried my best to look great in a really long time. For Gran to see me as how my mother had described me in the letters… I wouldn't be able to take it. So I looked presentable, though I probably smelled like I'd taken a bath in perfume. This would be for the best, though.

Once officially entering Las Vegas, I pulled over for gas and directions. After receiving both, I took a picture of Jacob with the Polaroid. I wasn't sure if we were out of film yet, but we would keep going. As of now, we only had a thousand square pictures of us and the places we'd driven by. On the first day, I'd kissed the picture of me, right on the corner. It was like a signature, and I wasn't sure why I'd kept it. Then again, I wasn't sure of anything.

But I was sure of where Gran lived, and how to get there. At least, now I was. I was anxious, and I tried to not let it show, but Jacob saw right through me.

"Don't be nervous," he told me. "She's gonna be so happy to see you."

"I just hope she's not expecting a lot," I admitted.

He chuckled. "Bells, she's not expecting you at all."

I snorted and rolled my eyes. "No need to remind me that this wasn't a fantastic idea," I muttered.

We eventually found her house, and it was easy to say that it was somebody's grandmother's house. Right in the middle of a small, cute neighborhood was a little house with a white picket fence. I would describe the house's color, but there were so many of them. It was pink and yellow and lavender and green with a white trim and a gray roof. It was just like the house straight from _Up_, minus the balloons. Knowing my grandmother and her ways, I wouldn't be surprised if the balloons would appear sooner or later.

I stepped onto the porch and took a deep breath. With Jacob on my left, he held my hand, and I was back at home. Cautiously, I knocked on the pale pink door and waited.

I must have held my breath for five minutes.

I never heard any shuffling in the house, or any voices. There was no sign that anybody was in the house. I guessed Gran could have been out, since she most likely did have a life outside of writing to her granddaughter, but I couldn't be sure… In fact, no. I had to be sure; I was desperate.

On a whim, I snuck around to the back of the house, looking for a window—any window, really. Jacob didn't have to call me crazy, since I already was, but I did actually find a window. And it was unlocked, albeit. Jacob, in his sunglasses and fake mustache, kept lookout as I wriggled through the window…

…And made the loudest noise collapsing to the wooden floor of Gran's house.

I stood up, flattened out my shirt, and looked around only to be absolutely horrified.

The house was empty. There was literally nothing in it. No furniture or pictures or anything. It was like nobody had ever even lived here; that's how clean it was. Gran must have moved. She had to have moved. She just had to. I'd forgotten when she'd sent me the last letter, but it was recent. I knew that, for sure. But she couldn't have left me with just _nothing_.

"She's not in there, is she?" Jacob asked from outside.

The words came out of my mouth monotonously. "No."

"You okay?"

I felt the tears start to burn in my eyes. "No," I repeated.

* * *

"What kind of shit _is_ this?" I spat, throwing a letter down onto the table. "I don't believe it. I just don't. I should but I don't."

We were now at a diner just outside of the city limits. If I had to be surrounded by people, I would have exploded. I was just about to, and nobody was in this restaurant. Thank God. I would blow it up myself if my anger couldn't do that on its own.

At least Jacob was calm, though.

"So here's what we both know," he said, setting down his cup of coffee after a long drink. "Marie Higginbotham—"

Suddenly, the waitress—a twenty-something with dark hair in a ponytail held by a yellow ribbon, long eyelashes, and enormous breasts—came to our table again, interrupting his spiel. "Are you sure you don't need anything, sweetie?" she asked me, notepad in hand. Sure, I _needed_ things. I _needed_ a lot of things. I needed answers, a decent shower at home (yes, we succumbed to a hotel room just for today), a rewind button for life, and a nice, big bottle of champagne to wash everything away if the rewind button wouldn't work.

I was sure I needed something. I needed a lot of things. Just nothing here.

"I don't need any—" I began, only to be interrupted by Jacob.

"She'd like a burger," he said, "and fries. Oh, and add a milkshake to that, too. Chocolate?" His eyes met mine.

_I'm gonna puke it, anyway_, I thought reluctantly. My thoughts didn't match my actions; I just nodded politely. "Yes, please," I told the waitress, whose nametag claimed that she went by the name of Marina.

"Your order will be out in a minute," she said with a grateful smile.

"Thanks, Marina," Jacob said smoothly.

"No problem."

She went back to the kitchen, and Jacob was about to carry on, but he was interrupted once again.

"You didn't have to do that," I told him sternly. "Burgers, fries, _and_ a milkshake? You know I'm not gonna eat all that."

"You're not you when you're hungry," he quoted.

"You're an asshole," I said.

"I know you're starving," he pointed out. "You're always really annoyed when you're starving."

"No, I'm annoyed because my grandmother is fucking _dead_ and nobody even told me."

"Wait," he said. "We have to go over this." His hands were folded understandingly over the table. "Like I was saying," he continued. "Marie Higginbotham died around last Christmas in her house. That house we went to."

"Well, yeah," I replied. "That's what the neighbor said. I swear the old man was on something, though."

After leaving Gran's house before being arrested for breaking and entering, we'd asked the neighbors about her, and the one old man who had answered his door told a lot. He lived across the street from Gran, and he had apparently been good friends with her. He'd told me a bunch of crap about how I looked _so much like_ Gran and how I made _just the same facial expressions as her_. Then he eventually told us how she died. The trip wasn't all that worthless, I supposed.

"So she had a stroke when her caretaker was out of the room," Jacob recalled. "And LifeAlert couldn't save her in time."

"That's such bullshit," I sneered. "That sounds nothing like my grandmother. _LifeAlert_." I made it sound like a heinous word. "That's ridiculous."

Marina the waitress approached the table with our—well, my—food on a tray and set it down in front of me. "Would you like anything else, sir?" she asked Jacob.

He ordered a serving of onion rings, and another milkshake. Charmingly, he informed her, "We'll be here all night."

She left again, and he told me that old people were supposed to use LifeAlert.

"Gran wasn't just some _old person_," I countered. "She was cool. I remember hanging out with her as a kid. She was really cool."

"People get old," he said simply.

I took a sip of my milkshake. "I wish things weren't that way."

The box of letters was with me, along with a folder of pictures from the old man I'd talked to earlier, and I rummaged through the latter, trying to find anything—_anything_—to make sense of what had happened. Old people had strokes; that wasn't unexpected. Old people are supposed to die of old age or heart attacks or cancer or strokes but that wasn't clicking with me.

"She was immortal in my head," I acknowledged idly as I came across a photo of her. It was black and white. Vintage. In the photo, she looked about eighteen or so, and she was modeling the oldest sweater on the face of the earth. I snickered.

"What's that?" Jacob asked.

I showed him the photograph, and he laughed. It was a deep, roaring, genuine guffaw that was louder than the radio in the diner. His laugh only caused me to laugh harder.

"She was a sweater model," I said. "Wasn't she fabulous?"

I looked through the folder some more and found an even broader selection of photos from Gran's sweater modeling days. For minutes on end, Jacob and I laughed and laughed and laughed. I didn't laugh because it was embarrassing or surprising or even all that funny; I laughed because nothing made sense of what had happened. Nothing had to, and I liked things that way.

* * *

The heavy metal hour on TV echoed in the dark hotel room as its light reflected against Jacob's face. Tears streaked upon my own as my thumbs rub against his chest. I was such a cried. I would never, ever, _ever_ stop crying because there would never be a reason to stop. Happiness never lasted forever, so I shouldn't have been so surprised.

Take the crappiest hotel in the state of Nevada. Think of the crappiest hotel you know, but not crappy enough to be considered a _motel_ as opposed to a hotel. Insert a scratchy blanket on a hard mattress and maybe a dead cockroach in the corner of the room and a staticky box television on a tiny dresser. That was where we were. It would have made more sense to stay in the truck for another night, but I'd desperately needed a shower.

Then again, even the loneliest of places could become less lonely with alcohol involved.

We'd picked up two bottles of champagne, purchased by me, and downed one in almost too little time. But here we were, drunk and naked with some German power metal band blaring from the television. Jacob's eyes remained open, though, and up at the ceiling, like he was thinking about something. I had no ideas as to what he was thinking, but I didn't want to have any.

"Was it worth it?" I asked.

He didn't have to ask for clarification; he knew. He definitely knew more than I could ever imagine.

"It was worth it," he replied.

* * *

It was Sunday, July fourteenth, and I was lighting a cigarette for the first time since November. I lay like the living dead inside the lonely bed of my truck with a cigarette between my lips and a bottle of champagne in my hands. It was the best company I could ever have.

I hadn't been able to sleep very well the previous night, but then again, sleep was not my friend. Champagne was. Champagne did wonders for me: it tasted like the tears and pain of an angel; it made me feel wealthy and important when I was quite the opposite, in reality; and it made me feel celestial, in a fabricated sort of way.

And I guessed this wasn't that good for me, because the last thing I needed was falseness. I'd seen the fake, and I'd seen the real. This was one hundred percent _real_. This wasn't a play or a show or a movie; this was vivid. Colorful. Treacherous. Terrifying. Beautiful, even. It was all sorts of things but it was authentic, at most. Genuine, authentic, and undeniably _real_. Then again, reality and happiness weren't very good company; they could never do anything in synch.

_No, Jacob_, I thought glumly. _It wasn't worth it._

* * *

**_A/N: _**_I'm so excited for you guys to read the next chapter omg. What did you guys think? What are you guys absolutely bURNING to see?_

_MTL. xo_

_P.S. - Quil and Claire moved to Vegas a few chapters back. Any wonderings why Jacob didn't mention them?_


	20. Chapter Twenty

_**A/N: **__I just may have to take freestyle rapping about books into consideration for a career._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

Everett—especially South Everett—hadn't changed over time to me; I'd just gotten more used to it. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

This early Tuesday morning, Jacob was driving the truck, and we were just entering the city of Everett. I was too exhausted, too intoxicated, too burnt out, and overall too done with everything to drive, at least, in his opinion. I certainly felt fine, but he couldn't see it.

"Thanks, Bella," he said as he continued driving on the main road to our apartment. "I think the trip was worth it. You were right—I've never really _been_ anywhere besides Washington. Thank you."

"No, thank _you_ for coming with me," I replied. "I would've been too lonely without you."

"You would've gone without me?" he wondered.

"Okay, no," I said. "But thank you. I've always wanted to do this. Drive off, I mean. But Edward… shit, he's such a dick. He never wanted to."

"Why not?" Jacob asked.

"He always told me, 'Oh, Bella, you're not _dying._'" I tried to match my voice to his, though I hadn't heard it in almost a year. "He always said, 'When you're terminally ill, we can do whatever you want. Get cancer and then we'll talk.'"

Jacob snorted.

"I know!" I said. "Like, shit, can't I enjoy myself and make things in life even a _little_ meaningful without having cancer first?"

"Right."

"Everyone deserves happiness," I went on, "whether you're dying or not. Edward really is a dick. Like, 'You're a white girl, Bella. You have the entire thing. You don't need anything else.' He's such an idiot."

"Sounds like it," Jacob agreed. "And you know what else I hate? When people use not being a starving third-world child as an excuse for someone else to not be sad. You're basically telling someone that their sadness shouldn't exist because a starving child in a third-world country is sadder. You're calling them out on being so-called 'insensitive,' when in actuality, you're being pretty damn insensitive to dismiss their emotions."

"That really pisses me off," I said. "Telling someone that they can't be sad because someone else in the world is sadder is like telling someone that they can't be happy because someone else in the world is happier. If everyone went about things like that, then nobody would dump a shitload of guilt on anybody else because it would be completely unfair." I took a breath and tried to get my thoughts together. "I mean, yeah, Hazel was right: some infinities are bigger than other infinities, as well as some feelings of sadness, but in the end it's all infinities and it's all sadness, no matter the scale."

With his eyes on the road still, Jacob said (and very bluntly, I might add), "Bella Swan, you are one of the smartest people I've ever known."

I smiled smugly. "At least you didn't say I'm one of the smartest _women_ you've ever known," I replied. "And thank you."

"No way, Bells, you're not just smart for a _woman_. You're smart for anybody."

"Thank you, Jacob," I said again. "And you're brilliant. You're absolutely brilliant and exquisite and I love you."

He had a huge, beaming, cheesy smile on his face. "Aww, you're gonna make me blush."

"Good."

His face then dropped. "Holy. Fucking. _Shit_."

"Wait, what?" I asked urgently. "Jake, what happened?"

"Caderousse. Did we ask Carmen to watch him?"

"Shit."

* * *

I sprinted into the apartment screaming my cat's name, only it would have been louder if Jacob's wasn't so overpowering.

In a commotion, I searched everywhere in the apartment for Caderousse. Under every piece of furniture and in every cabinet and in every corner I searched for a little ball of gray fur. If the apartment had been clean before Jacob and I flipped it upside down, then it certainly wasn't afterward.

And alas, I couldn't find Caderousse.

Mindlessly, I flew back outside to my truck, my keys in hand. _Fucking hell,_ this was my entire fault. I'd thought of the road trip, but I hadn't thought—not even once—of our pet. In fact, no; Caderousse couldn't even be considered a _pet_. He was like a member of the family. He could have been our child, really. And of course, I'd forgotten about him. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Without having told Jacob, I'd started driving. I knew he wouldn't let me, being so intoxicated, but I was okay. I knew it was. It wasn't raining or anything, either. I could see. Yeah, the entire world was sloshing in my ears a little, but I was fine. I was great.

I drove slowly, trying to peer down every alley for Caderousse. I'd read that cats were very territorial and that they always knew their way back home. If a cat went out, it would eventually trace the scent back home once it got hungry, but with Caderousse, his owners hadn't been there to feed him, but wouldn't he have come home? Unless… unless he was hit by a car. I started to panic. I'd killed every other pet I'd had as a child; I couldn't kill this one, and I'd become so attached, anyway.

Nervous, I continued to drive through the dark streets. The blue dawn was slowly rising; it would be easier to find him, wouldn't it? My mind was occupied with the possibilities of what could have happened to him when—

_OH MY GOD._

I braked quickly before I hit whatever skittered across the road. A squirrel? No, it was much too big. Taking a chance, I pulled over and got out of the truck. Then I followed the direction in which the animal had gone.

Walking down the sidewalk, I found it hard to search for the animal that could have been Caderousse. I stumbled easily along nearly every crack, and I had a massive headache. I wasn't sure if I was drunk or if I was transitioning into the hangover phase, but things weren't right.

However, I eventually came across a little gray, furry ball next to a bush. I could spot that ball from anywhere.

"Oh, _Roussy_," I cooed. The cat immediately looked up at me and approached me. I held my arms out, and he jumped into them.

"I missed you, you silly cat," I said. I stood there for a second and just stroked him. God, I missed it… but he stank. He stank terribly.

"Christ, you smell like shit," I muttered, carrying him down the street. I would need to get to a phone booth to call Jacob and tell him I had our cat, and I knew one was close. I fumbled for a quarter in my pocket, but I couldn't find anything. _Well, things just got dandier._

I put Caderousse in the front seat—and he actually stayed put—and started driving back to the apartment. I hoped Jacob would be there, but right as I was pulling in, he was leaving. I almost head-on collided with the Rabbit, and we both knew which car would be crushed in the end.

We both braked abruptly, and Jacob backed into the lot. I followed him to our parking spots and met him outside the Rabbit, Caderousse in my arms.

"Where'd you find him?" Jacob questioned. "I was trying to ask around, but either no one's awake or no one's home."

"He was in a bush down the street," I informed him. "I'm so sorry, Jake."

"For what?" he wondered.

"I totally forgot about him," I reminded him. "We just ran off without a thought about him, which should have been my responsibility. I am so sorry, Jacob."

"Honey, it's okay," he said.

"It's really not."

"Well, fine. He could have rabies or something."

I bit my lip and stared up at Jacob. "Sor—" I began again.

"But I doubt it," he finished. "So there's no need to be sorry. I'll take him to the vet once the office opens up. I've got his kennel in the car. You need some rest."

"I should come with you," I offered.

"No," he said frankly. "You need rest."

I pouted. "It's _my_ cat," I reminded him. "_My_ Christmas gift, not yours."

He ran a hand through his short hair. "I've just got some stuff to do afterwards, Bells. I don't wanna make you do boring stuff, is all."

"Boring stuff?" I questioned, an eyebrow raised. Jacob had never acted like this toward me before. If I wasn't so tired (slash drunk slash miserable slash all of the above), I would have argued with him for days, but I just didn't have it in me. Not today.

He nodded, his eyes not leaving mine once. "Yup."

I handed over Caderousse and crossed my arms over my chest.

"C'mon, don't pout," Jake said.

I pouted some more.

"God, you are beautiful, Bella. Absolutely heavenly. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are? Because you are."

I didn't say anything. He couldn't buy me with compliments, especially since I knew for a fact I didn't look beautiful today. Months ago, I would have dragged him into the apartment and to our bed just for that compliment, but not now. I knew better.

"Love you," he told me.

"You might as well head down to the vet now," I suggested bitterly. "Get some of those boring things out of the way early."

"Oh, Bells, don't be angry with me," he said, his eyes desperate. "My heart couldn't take it if you hated me for the rest of the day."

"I won't," I assured him. I couldn't ever imagine hating him; he was just being dramatic. "Now get going. I need rest, like you said."

He nodded. "I'll see you later. If you want, I'll even cook you breakfast."

My pout didn't leave my face. "We'll see."

"Alright?"

I didn't say anything; I just wanted to see him fall a little bit, not because I was malicious, but because it was honestly very funny.

"Alright?" he repeated.

A small smile appeared on my face from the middle of nowhere. I could never be angry with Jacob. At least, not for a long time. "Alright," I said.

He was put at ease again, and with that, he went to the Rabbit, put Caderousse in his travel kennel, and drove off.

* * *

Caderousse ended up being okay, without rabies or worms or anything. He was just really in need of a bath, which Jacob and I managed to escape alive from.

Other than that, nothing very exciting happened for a while. We returned to work, I got over my grandmother's death (and told my mom, who, surprisingly, didn't even know), and life carried on like usual.

Well, until August fourth.

Today, August fourth, was a normal day at first. It was Sunday, which was supposed to be reserved for laundry and getting things ready for the rest of the week, and that did happen in the morning. However, the afternoon came, and Jacob told me he would be running some errands. The way he did it was very asshole-like, if you ask me. He didn't even say goodbye, really; he just walked out the door and called, "Got some errands to take care of."

Which left me alone in the apartment… again. Throughout the time between us returning from Vegas and today, Jacob had a lot of "errands" to take care of. Too many errands, too little time with me… It was annoying. The phone constantly rang day to day, and he never gave me a chance to answer it. At some point, the house phone would stop ringing and he would be on his cell phone more and more often. I wasn't the type, but it made me really fucking suspicious.

So, me being alone in the apartment did nothing good for my mood. In sweatpants, a t-shirt, no makeup, and my hair a hot mess (with Caderousse in my lap), I indulged in the bad reality television Jacob had scrutinized me for liking the first weekend I'd been here. Along with the nonstop bickering of housewives, I made a couple new friends, whose names were Ben and Jerry. _Forget Jacob and his errands,_ I thought conceitedly. _At least I know consistency when I see it._

A load of laundry had just finished washing, and when I got up to toss the clothes in the dryer, the doorbell rang. A visitor certainly beat a chore, I decided. Hopefully it would be Jacob.

However, to my great surprise, there was Quil. Quil Ateara. The same Quil who I'd worked with in the shopping mall. The same Quil I'd slept with around last Thanksgiving. The same Quil who had run away with his girlfriend to Vegas last winter, and who Jacob hadn't mentioned the entire time we'd been in Vegas.

"Oh my God," I muttered.

And this same Quil was standing before me in a black tuxedo and white tie with a pink rose in the breast pocket. Also, he didn't look mad at me or even that surprised.

"Good afternoon, Bella," he greeted me with a smile. "How are you?"

"I'm, uh… I'm fine," I said. "How are you?"

"Great," he replied.

"Sorry to sound rude," I began, "but why are you here? I'm just wondering."

He offered his arm out to me. "Come with me and you'll find out."

I raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Does this have to do with Jacob?"

"You'll see."

I rolled my eyes and slipped my sneakers on. "I hope this doesn't take too long."

I went with Quil to his car, and before starting it, he handed me a paper scroll with a pink ribbon around it. "What's this?" I wondered.

He just smiled and started the car up. "Read it."

As he zoomed through the streets, I untied the paper and unrolled it. In Jacob's scratchy handwriting, I read:

_You say your nurture is of type-A goals, but your nurture is of a loser. I may be a loser, but you are definitely my type._

I snorted, rolled the paper back up, and looked out the window, where I could have sworn that pink was _everywhere._ And not even just pink, but pink roses. It couldn't have been a coincidence that all the flowers of Everett had been dipped in pink, so Jacob must have had something to do with it. I was fond of being presented with pink flowers on our dates, but I couldn't be sure…

The car suddenly stopped, and Quil got out. I unbuckled my seatbelt, and Quil was already around the car to open my door for me. "Thanks," I said. I had absolutely no idea what was going on, but I rolled with it.

I got out and looked up at a building. It looked like a workplace, and I secretly wondered if Jacob was sending me to work, but when I entered the building, I just found a bunch of desks and computers. It really was a workplace, and it looked scarily similar to Dunder Mifflin, the office of… well, _The Office_, except for the fact that pink roses were everywhere.

"Bella!"

I yelped, because I swore I was alone, and Quil was no longer behind me. I turned to my right, where the voice had come from, and saw Carmen, from my old job at the theatre. In a black and white dress with a pink rose attached to it, she scared the shit out of me, but I was happy to see her. After hugging her, I asked, "What am I doing here?"

She just smiled and handed me another scroll.

"Jacob's so fucking weird," I murmured, unraveling it. I was then presented with a new message from him:

_I've always thought I wouldn't find the "right" girl, so I've always been afraid of relationships. Remember Michael and Holly? Jim and Pam? Kelly and Ryan? They found love, and so have I, only I've found the best Holly/Pam/Kelly combination there is: I've found you._

Jeez, Jacob could be cheesy, but he could also be the most romantic person on the planet. I could only wonder where he was so I could simultaneously laugh at him and kiss him.

* * *

For the next hour, I was led to a few more places that represented the Epic Pop Cultural Journey of Jake and Bells, and by various people I enjoyed meeting. Claire gave me a message having to do with _Romeo and Juliet_ at a masquerade ball of some sorts; Eleazar met me at a fake Miami, like in _Dexter_; Seth showed me a setting of _The Great Gatsby_; and more. Jacob's messages both improved and got worse at the same time.

The last place I was led to was a park closer to home, and from the second I stepped in with Rachel, my escort, I knew there was a John Green thing going on. There were blue plastic chairs from _Looking for Alaska_ around the place, surrounded by everything else orange, like in _The Fault in Our Stars._ It made me want to cry, partly because it was so sweet, but also because I had literally no idea as to what was going on.

That is, until I saw Jacob. The moment I saw him, I simply did not care that I had no idea what was going on.

Lined on either side of Jacob, the many people who had led me through this scavenger hunt—this map of everything I loved, really—looked down at me and smiled, but I could barely notice them. All I saw was my handsome, handsome Jacob, dressed in a white tuxedo with a pink rose in the breast pocket standing in the middle. Even as I was in an ice cream-stained t-shirt, old sweatpants, and ratty tennis shoes, I didn't care. I really didn't care. Jacob had done the most romantic thing in the entire world for me, and I couldn't help but run to him like I was mad, like he was at heaven's door. From what it looked like, even in the contrasting environments of Culver Creek Preparatory School and Indianapolis, it truly was heaven.

I really did run to him, too. I jumped onto him so hard he nearly fell over, which raised chuckles from our audience. I wrapped my legs around him, and I didn't want to let go. I loved him, I loved him, _I loved him._ And I wanted everyone to know it, too. Why wouldn't I?

He smiled at me like it was just the two of us here, and really, it felt like it. "Hey, honey," he said.

I smiled back at him with a grin the size of the continent. "Hey, Jake."

"Sorry for all the errands," he said. "I know it kind of pissed you off."

"Don't be sorry," I told him, my hands playing in his hair. "What's all this for, anyway?"

"You wanna know?" he asked.

"I really wanna know."

He set me down and gave Paul—yes, that ridiculous Paul Lahote was here, too—a cue of some sorts. Suddenly, everybody started beatboxing, and those who couldn't just gave a beat.

Dancing a bit, Jacob removed the pink rose from his pocket and tucked it, along with a few strands of my hair, behind my ear. Then he danced some more, causing my smile to never leave my face, and started rapping:

"Oh milady Bella / I love you like hella / I'm so glad to be your fella / Your love is like the rain and I don't ever want an umbrella / You taught to love reading / 'Cause reading is so appeasing / And I'd gladly take a beating / 'Cause literature is what I'm needing / I remember _The Count of Monte Cristo_ / 'Cause it was such a hit, so / I found out how you grew up and it sounded like the pits, so / I don't care if you think you're a loser / 'Cause I know that's just a bruiser / And I don't ever wanna see you sad / But it's been enough of that / But I got you into _The Office_ / And you are such a goddess / And that show made me promise / That I'd have to do this on this fine day in August / So you taught me how to love / Through all the plots we read and above / But you taught me about myself / And I wouldn't wanna be anyone else / I guess I was feeling incomplete / 'Cause I didn't know my identity / But identities will last forever / Almost like this bipolar weather / And I know I'm kinda OCD / But you never give up on me / You always give me another chance / So please, would you just always let me be your man? / This rap is getting kind of long / But I could keep going on and on / I didn't really like _The Fault in Our Stars_ / Which is kinda strange, since I'm a romantic at heart / I like the way they have a _forever_ / It made the book a little better / Especially how their forever was an _okay_ / And I never thought I'd feel this way."

He now held my hands as I couldn't say anything, simply in pure amazement. I'd never known he was a rapper, or even attempted it.

"_Okay_ is not just a word for everyday / _Okay_ is the word of Augustus and Hazel Grace / And, God, I just love seeing your face / 'Cause I could stare at it for days and days / And so what if we don't have an _okay_? / _'Okay? Okay'_ is cute but that's their way / We have _alright_, which I think is pretty tight / _Alright? Alright_ works and it always gives me life / But I loved _Looking for Alaska_ / And I just had to ask ya / Can you really believe this is happenin'? / 'Cause I think we're getting out of the labyrinth / And I'm not as good at rapping as Takumi / But I still try, so sue me / And I've gotta stop assuming / That what other people think matters to more than just you and me / But Bella, I am in love with you / And I just want you to love me, too."

Jacob then went down on one knee, and I stopped breathing just as the beatboxing stopped. He continued to hold both of my hands in his.

"I am getting down on one knee / For the woman who gives reason for every breath I breathe / It's almost time to look up at the sky / And let me tell you that you are one of the reasons that I am alive / But I do think this rap was pretty alright / And as of now, I possess no fright."

He let go of my hands now, and pulled a little, black, velvet box from an inside pocket of his jacket. He then opened the box, and I was presented with the most beautiful engagement ring on the planet. I'd lost the ability to breathe, but I hadn't lost the ability to think. The ring. Was. Absolutely. Stunning.

Jacob stared up at me, his brown eyes shining like everything was right with the world. "And now is the moment when you should look up at the sky," he said softly yet proudly. "Isabella Marie Swan, would you do the celestial honor of being my bride?"

I looked up at the blue sky, where a skywriter was just finishing a saying. I had to wipe the tears from my eyes to actually read the message. The sky, in clouds, clearly read, _BELLA, WILL YOU MARRY ME?_

I looked back down at Jacob, who was still there, on one knee, absolutely beautiful, and with that ring pointed out to me. This only caused more tears to form and run down my face. I was nearly at the point of sobbing within one and a half seconds, but Jacob just waited for me to get it together. He didn't move a muscle. He had never been a patient person, and he wasn't about to stop now.

"Will you?" he asked, even softer.

My eyes couldn't leave his. Any other way to tell him this wouldn't be right.

"I can't."

* * *

_**A/N: **__Free your mind. Get mad at me. Get furious with me. Just tell me what you think._

_Three chapters left!_

_MTL. xoxo_


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

_**A/N: **__I AM DETERMINED TO FINISH THIS STORY BEFORE SATURDAY._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

At first, he smiled. He smiled like everything in the world was just right. He smiled that glorious white grin at me like I, Bella Swan, was soon going to be Bella Black.

If only things had actually been that way.

His expression suddenly faded into a new one, though: one more suiting for what I'd said. The smile upon not only Jacob's lips but also his face turned into a blatant expression of surprise. He wasn't angry or sad at all. Just surprised.

He was also totally silent; the only sounds I heard were the low murmurs of our witnesses. But Jacob's mouth was quiet. It hung open, purely shocked, but nothing came out. Then again, what was he supposed to say?

I didn't want to find out, so I ran.

* * *

While growing up, I'd always behaved like a princess. My mother had never been very rich on her own, I'd gone to public school, and I'd never been served caviar during a meal, but on the inside, I'd always been a princess. A primadonna, to be more specific. I'd always been told by my mother that if I wasn't number one, then I would have to be lonely. The end. Enough said.

And lonely, I was. Number one, as well, and nothing other than that.

However, in my days of being a princess in my own mind (which weren't really over, I guessed), I'd always counted on other people to mess up, so I wouldn't have to. It was always supposed to be somebody else's fault. That wasn't the case this time.

This was my entire fault, and a while ago, I wouldn't have admitted it.

Didn't change much, though.

I'd never had a problem with chewing men up and spitting them out. I'd never had a problem with saying goodbye to Edward out of nowhere, or manipulating Garrett to the point of scaring him, or using Quil like a rental movie until he eventually ran away. I'd never had a problem with ruining both Kate and Garrett's relationship, as well as Claire and Quil's. I'd never cared that much for Edward, which was why I'd cheated so many times, and I'd never cared enough for him to care about me, which was why he'd also cheated so many times. I'd never had a problem with dressing for me and me only, and having a plastic heart to avoid the pain. I'd never gotten hurt—or I'd always been hurt, somehow—and I'd never done anything about it.

So how come _everything_ hurt now?

I still couldn't believe it… Jacob had done _everything_ in his power to show how much he loved me. He'd given his all. He'd organized a crazy scavenger hunt that illustrated us, he'd most likely spent a fortune on the ring, and he'd even gotten a fucking _skywriter_. He'd set up the perfect proposal. The most perfect proposal in the entire world…

…And I'd ruined it. Straight up demolished it like a wrecking ball would a building. To make things worse, I'd ran. I'd ran like hell's army was chasing me, just so I could avoid hearing what he'd had to say. I could hear it in my head, though; I could hear it all too clear. Jacob was most likely crushed. He most likely cried. I bet everyone who was there was just disgusted at me, and crying for him. On the other hand, he could have been vapid after I'd left. I bet he told everyone that I was no good, that I was just terrible, and that it wasn't even worth it. I wasn't sure which fate was stronger: how much I loved him or how much I loved myself.

But _shit_, I hated myself. I hated, hated, _hated_ everything about me. I was in my truck now, on my way to Edmonds to catch the next ferry to Kingston, and I would have slammed it nice and hard into an oncoming car in the lane over. I would have gone like Alaska Young, just for Jacob, hard and fast. I would have crashed and burned, and completely learned my lesson at the same time. Jake would hate it, but in the back of my mind, I was convinced that he would love it, too. Everybody loves a good sob story.

So I was back to Forks. Even with the shitty mileage on the truck, I went back to Forks, because, hey—Quil was right: I truly was from Forks. I wasn't from the cute part of Forks, overrun by tourism and gift shops; I was from the ugly part of Forks, where people rotted and rotted in an inescapable labyrinth of suffering only to inadvertently commit suicide, either mentally or physically. Most times, both. I was from the shadiest point of Forks and I would scream it to the world if I had to. South Everett was dirtier, sure, but at least it was _real_. Forks wasn't real; Forks was a never-ending abyss. A dystopian land full of misery and desolation.

I was from Forks, alright.

Things might even be a little better with Edward around. He wasn't exactly who I wanted—since it was clear that I didn't want Jacob in the way that he wanted me—but _he_ was who _I_ was, as shitty as that sounded.

The sun didn't shine much in Forks; under the constant coverage of clouds, it was really hard to see the light of things. It wasn't late when I arrived, though; it couldn't have been later than four o'clock.

Looking up at the main building of Shady Pointe, I wasn't sure how to feel about being back. The last time I'd been here, I'd been ready to annihilate Edward's apartment more than necessary. The time before then, I hadn't looked back. I'd been so desperate to leave not only because I had Jacob's old address, but because I had to save myself.

Without a clue as to what to expect, I parked the truck and got my one pink suitcase and purse out of it. Hopefully, if Edward was still around, there would be room.

Lost in my own thoughts, I managed to completely ignore the greeting I'd received. "Hey," someone told me as I walked up the pavement. I turned to my right to see a skinny blonde in heart-shaped sunglasses drop her stained-orange Popsicle stick and get off the curb.

_Oh, Kate._

* * *

"Hey, girl," I greeted her. I set my suitcase and purse down and walked over to hug her, but she just backed away as if I had a disease or something. Setting her sunglasses on top of her head of hair as pale and straight as corn silk, she scowled at me.

I didn't have to ask what was wrong; it was too obvious: things were definitely not how like they used to be. At the same time, I didn't mind.

"Garrett's not here if that's who you're looking for," Kate informed me bitterly as I followed her up the steps to her apartment. She was angry at me, but not angry enough to not offer me a joint.

"I'm not looking for him," I assured her. "I swear."

"_Bullshit_," she sneered, following the path of seasonally inappropriate Christmas lights. "I know what you fucking did."

"And what would that be?" I challenged.

She stopped at her front door and turned to me. Her eyes were wide. "Don't play dumb," she told me. "Garrett. Told. Me. _Everything_."

I put a hand on my hip and looked up at her, my eyes narrowed. "Then go on," I said. "Remind me."

Her plump lips pursed a bit. "Well, for one thing, he wasted a fuckton of dope on you, and for another, you guys were fucking, weren't you?"

"Why are you asking if he told you everything?"

She didn't even blink. "I didn't trust him," she stated simply. "I thought I could trust you. Now tell me."

"Well, we did fuck," I admitted. "Five times. If you'd actually let me into your place, I'd show you the exact spots."

Kate didn't even look angry, and it pissed me off more than anything. I wanted to provoke her. I wanted to provoke somebody—_anybody_—because nobody would provoke me. I wanted to make her so angry that she'd try to punch me, all because I really did deserve to be punched for all I'd done.

But shit. She wasn't even mad. If anything, she looked more distressed than irritated. She turned around and opened the door to her and Garrett's apartment.

"Is Garrett even home?" I wondered.

She didn't look at me again as I entered the familiar place. It was just as messy as it had always been, yet comfortable. Not nearly as messy as Edward's apartment.

"We should bake," Kate suggested, making her way to her stash. It was just where it had always been: in the kitchen, under the sink.

I didn't want to get high, but I couldn't tell this to Kate. She would call me soft. I truly didn't want to light up because I wasn't used to it anymore. I wasn't used to feeling buzzed or even anywhere near it. Cigarettes and weed were entirely different things, and I didn't want to find out the difference.

Within minutes, though, I wasn't just buzzed like a bee. I wasn't sure what Kate had laced me with, but I was going ballistic. I was seeing colors. I was seeing _seasons._ The kaleidoscope of stars had me seeing the seasons in a new way. They were atomic. Outstanding. Nuclear.

Yet somehow, I managed to find my voice in all of this, after the crazy stuff. My real voice, I mean. For minutes or hours or maybe even days, Kate and I were talking and smoking. Smoking and talking. Laughing, too. We cackled like witches over the dumbest things. We rolled over like little kids at the silliest things. We playfully burned our fingertips just to see if it would hurt (and it did).

Kate made me realize just how lonely I could be. She was the absolute opposite of company; she was merely me, and we were one big ball of loneliness. I didn't feel as if I was sharing secrets with another person; I had to have been sharing secrets with myself, because that was the easiest way.

Some things never changed, and one of those things was the amount of money Kate had. Even as I'd been gone, Shady Pointe was still a shady place, Kate still didn't have much money to her name, and she still wasn't bothered by that.

Coming down from our highs and sharing a cigarette, I finally had my real voice again. "So what's going on with Edward and Garrett?"

Sometime back, the lights in Kate's apartment had gone out, which left us seeing each other only in the light produced by candles. It only made things look eerie… like a ritual. However, that wasn't the case. I was here because… in fact, I didn't know why I was here—not even the slightest idea—and Kate hadn't even asked.

But she stared at me now with the grimmest expression on her face. Her eyes were bloodshot, her lips were pale, and she looked colder than anything. Her look was forbidding enough to make me want to go back home, but then again, what home?

"Baby," she told me, "your boyfriends are dead."

"Shut up," I said. "Where are they really?"

"Well, I'm gonna say hell. Neither of them did anything in particular to give them a chance to meet the Man."

"They are not fucking dead."

"Yes, they are so fucking dead."

"How did they die?"

"Bella, it's not like they died together. They weren't a couple."

"Then tell me!"

"It's a long story."

"You think I'm in a rush to leave, Kate?"

She sighed. "I think it's time for a Lonely Hearts Club meeting, my darling."

* * *

Fueled on cheap mac and cheese (and multiple cans of the absolute worst beer), Kate and I adjoined in a meeting of the old Lonely Hearts Club. I tried not to think of the other member of the new one. This was just our evening. The evening of Isabella and Katrina. No books, no television shows, no dreams… Just words and plenty of booze.

"So what brings you here, Bella?" she began, taking a bite of her pasta. I was waiting to see her reaction first—since the food looked more like plastic—and she didn't even cringe once. It couldn't have tasted that bad.

"Well, I—"

"In fact, no," she said. "No. What made you go _away_?"

"Let's start with you," I suggested.

"Okay." Kate had never been a difficult person.

"How's life been?" I asked simply.

She smiled to herself like she'd been just waiting to answer such a generic question. "I'm glad you asked," she said. "Life's been equally self-loathing and self-loving. Definitely self-indulgent."

It was like looking in a mirror. I flinched.

"Now, tell me why you left," she pressed. "Because that was pretty out of the blue. Was it something that Edward did? He thought it was."

"I left because…" My eyes left hers for a moment. "Because I needed a change. I needed a change and I didn't have time to explain."

Kate wasn't the type to need an explanation for everything. "But why did you come back?"

I shrugged. "I came back for closure, in a way. I mean, I visited a little while ago to do something really immature and stupid, but then I started to worry. More than I should have, anyway."

She nodded in understanding, as if she totally got me. She did, after all.

"Where did you even go?" she wondered.

"Everett."

"What the fuck is an Everett?"

I chuckled. "That's what I said the first time I heard about Everett. It's a city across Puget Sound."

"Is it big?"

"It's pretty big."

"Like, _big-_big?"

I shook my head no. "Not even. It's not Seattle, for sure."

"Did you date anyone in Everett?" Christ, she was really ruthless with her questions.

I bit my lip, and the tears were threatening to escape my eyes. "Yeah," I sighed uneasily.

"Who is he?"

"His name's Jacob."

"Tell me about Jacob."

Kate was so easy to talk to. She never judged or scrutinized. She was a big listener, but she didn't listen just to talk again. She listened to understand.

So to help her understand, I dug my wallet out of my purse and took out the picture of Jacob and I that I'd kept with me since our trip to Vegas. It was a Polaroid photo of us folded in half, and when I unfolded it, I gave it to Kate. Jacob had said he hated the picture, since he wasn't exactly ready to take it, but I loved it. I really did, and I still loved it.

"He has a _gnarly_ mustache!" Kate observed. "Oh my God, that is incredible."

I laughed. "That's not a real mustache," I told her. "It's fake. He hasn't grown one out that much, but sometimes he has stubble and it's really gorgeous. Oh, and I'm wearing a wig in that picture. He said I looked cute, but I don't really believe him. It was a great trip. I mean, I didn't really get what I want, but it was great still." I then dug out a picture of Caderousse from my purse. "Look at him," I said. "That's Caderousse, our cat. Jake gave him to me for Christmas, which was really thoughtful. He's like our baby sometimes, and he thinks he's above us, but it's so funny. He's cuter in person."

"You love him," Kate said matter-of-factly.

"Duh, I love my cat. It's a cat."

"No, not the cat," she corrected. "Jacob."

I took a moment to think about this. "Yeah," I replied. "I guess I do love him."

"And from what you said about him," she went on, "it sounds like he loves you, too."

"Oh, he does," I said. "He really loves me. He proposed earlier today."

Her voice then went into hysterics. "OH MY GOD, BELLA, WHY DID YOU FUCKING LEAVE HIM, THEN?"

I leaned back and put my hands out. "Okay, who the fuck are you and what did you do with Kate?"

"Bella, I don't even _know_ the guy and I can already see that was a dumb-ass move." Her face was livid. "If he asked you to marry him, that's not just something you can just run away from."

"Don't you know me at all?" I asked. "I don't 'settle.'"

"You can't deny a man who's in love with you, either."

"You don't know a thing about Jacob."

"Well, he sounds fantastic. He bought you a cat, for fuck's sake."

"That doesn't mean I have to marry him," I reminded her.

"You're right," she admitted. "You don't _have_ to marry him at all, but you can't just run away. That's a bitch move right there."

I made a face.

"Seriously, Bella," she went on. "I'm being real with you right now. You don't have to marry him, but you can't just run away when he asks. Be a big girl."

"It's not like I just ran away," I said, poorly defending myself. "At least I said no first."

"And _then_ you ran away?" She made a face of pure disgust. "That's stupid."

"That's me," I said weakly.

"Then I'm gonna say it right now, Bella: you're stupid."

"This isn't about me," I told her. "This is about you. And Garrett and Edward, too. So how did Edward die?" It was a bizarre conversation change, but it worked.

"Alone in his apartment," she replied. "God, it was awful. Just ugly."

"When did he die, though?"

"Like… like, two weeks ago. Garrett went in for something, and just found him on the living room floor. We didn't figure out how long he was dead, though. Your dad's face, though… Chief Swan, right? God, Bella, his face was _priceless._"

Well, this wasn't settling. It wasn't settling at all. Edward had been my first boyfriend. My very first. He'd changed me, and now he was just… gone.

And as much as it probably had nothing to do with me, I couldn't help but think it did.

"Anything else?" Kate asked calmly, like she didn't even care, and knowing her, she probably didn't.

"How did Garrett die?" I wondered.

"Car crash. After Edward passed, Garrett was drunk for days." Kate's eyes were closed, like she was reminiscing. "He was so depressed and messed up. Sometimes I feel like I could have done something to stop him, you know? When he was finally sober, he left the house to get drunk again. I just totally let him go, which is the worst decision I could ever make. Then he got into a nasty crash. The cops found his car wrapped around a tree. The funeral was even worse, too."

She paused, and I told her to go on. Looking down at her hands, she sounded regretful, in a way. "Garrett's funeral was really small," she said. "Like, nobody went. Garrett came from _literally nowhere_. I still don't know where exactly he's from. Somewhere in the south. New Orleans, I think. His parents died really young; he and his brother were raised by his aunt, but she died, too, after he turned eighteen, and he just got as far away as possible. Forks was it. Only his older brother, who's, like, twenty-five, went to the funeral. And me, too, of course."

If anyone had really been locked in a labyrinth of suffering, it was Garrett.

"What was Edward's funeral like?" I questioned.

"Big. _Enormous,"_ she replied. "The entire town was there, it seemed. I didn't really know anyone there, but I didn't have to. His mom never stopped crying, and his dad was there, too, and so were all his brothers and sisters. If it wasn't a funeral, it would have been a party, with that many people there. Oh, _God_, and, like, his entire graduating class was there, too. It made him look like he was a hero or something."

"Why the hell would they do that?" I asked, incredulous.

"I don't know," she said. "I really don't know. He didn't die serving our country; he overdosed in his shitty little apartment alone. Shot up too hard and too fast and _bam_. Dead. None of those high school kids had heard of him in over three years." She sighed. "Some people honestly don't deserve the fame."

"To be honest," I agreed. "And his apartment is clean again?"

"Oh, yeah, it's marvelous," she said, "and empty. But definitely clean. They found a lot of stashes in there, though. It was kind of ridiculous. And they went through all of mine and Garrett's stuff, but at least we got rid of it, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"And you never feel bad about what's happened?" I asked.

Kate shook her head and leaned back onto her elbows. "Never," she replied. "I feel deserted and like a bum, but never bad. Loneliness is just always there, though. Even in the background, it never goes away. Sometimes you just have to sit there and deal with it."

"Have you ever looked for a change?" I wondered.

"Never," she repeated.

"Why?"

"Because changes are fucking scary as hell."

"You're just not brave enough," I pointed out.

She shrugged. "I guess I'm not. I mean, loneliness isn't all that bad, Bella. You've dealt with it before. This isn't anything new. I guess the Lonely Hearts Club has been reformed."

I agreed—oh, I _so_ agreed—with her, but there was this feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. It was starting to eat me alive and I'd just gotten here.

Maybe it was because I missed Jacob—the other member of the _other_ Lonely Hearts Club—but maybe it was also because I was just now realizing that I'd left both Edward and Garrett only to kill them off in the end. Maybe that was just what happens when you leave the tranquility of the home you know for the new experiences of the place you don't.

* * *

I fell asleep sometime later that night, but I hadn't stayed that way for long. Somewhere in the middle of the night, I'd woken from Kate's couch in a cold sweat. It was too loud for comfort…

It was just the rain, actually. If there was one thing I hadn't missed about Forks, it was the excessive rain.

I couldn't sleep very well with the rain being so loud, but the absence of Jacob's arms made it uncomfortable. I felt empty… Numb, really.

Once after find a few quarters lying around, I snuck out of the apartment easily, just to find the phone booth right outside the main office. I'd told myself that I couldn't be with Jacob anymore, but I couldn't help it… I needed to be assured that he was okay, even as I knew he wasn't particularly _okay._

I knew his numbers—both the home and his cell phone—by heart, and he never answered. I stayed on the line for maybe hours that night. It stopped raining and started raining four different times for as long as I stood in that phone booth. I got so used to the humming of the phone that it was still stuck in my head when I went back to Kate's apartment for more spare change.

And Jacob didn't pick up once.

He didn't ignore my calls, either, though; the line would ring until I would have to leave a message. On his cell phone, I didn't leave messages merely because I couldn't; he hadn't set up a voicemail box and as far as I was concerned, he never would.

I called home (was that what it still was?) a couple of times, and I heard the voicemail message so many times it was starting to turn into a song with Jacob's voice as the lead vocals. _"Hey, you've reached Jacob Black and Bella Swan. We're not here at the moment, but here's a beep. Hopefully you know what to do with it."_

I'd always hung up before I could record a message, but the very last time I called that night, I actually left a message. My toes were cold and my teeth chattered and I wasn't sure what to say, but I left a message.

"Hey, Jake," I said. "It's, uh… it's Bella. Well, I didn't know it would come to this, but that's just what happens when you're on your own, I guess, and stupid enough to let the good things go. I'm sorry. I love you and I'm sorry. I'm a total dumb-ass for what I did, and if you want to take all my stuff out and put it in storage or something, that'd be fine. I don't care. Really, I don't fucking care. Just please call me back somehow and tell me you're oka—"

_Beeeeep._

* * *

_**A/N: **__Sorry, I lied. There aren't two chapters left; there's only one. The next chapter is the last chapter, and then there will be a brief author's note afterward from yours truly. This chapter was mellow, wasn't it? Heartbreaking? Maybe? Hmm. Well, tell me what you think. You know how I get about feedback. ;P_

_Last chapter coming up tomorrow!_

_MTL. xo_

_(P.S. – The only reason why I want to finish this story by Saturday is because that's the day I'm going to Forks [for the very first time and the Saga's already over, wtf.] Holla.)_


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two & Author's Note

_**A/N:**__ Kinda Outta Luck is kinda pretty much done._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

"Hello?" I asked into the phone. "_Hello?_" Two more days had passed, and I was pretty sure I'd spent over fifteen dollars in quarters alone, making phone calls. I'd spent more time in the phone booth than I had with Kate, too. The line was no longer ringing now, so maybe Jacob had picked up, but he wasn't saying anything.

"I'm not crying over you," I went on, weakly. "If I do, I'll die, and that can't happen. I told you…" I took a deep breath. "I told you to call me back, and you didn't even do that. It's not that hard, you know. I don't know if I'm coming back. Maybe I'll come back when you answer. So I'm here. I'm in Forks. I don't know what or how you're doing, but I pray your life is sweet, you fucker. You know, it's not hard to pick up a—"

_Click._

He'd been listening.

I sighed and harshly—almost violently—put the phone back onto the hook. "Fuck," I muttered.

I'd been here much too long. I just couldn't adjust. Not again. Living with Kate wasn't good for me, and I'd discovered something vital: Shady Pointe wasn't my home. It was nothing like it.

Even as I hated and loved everything and nothing about Jacob right now, he was where home was. I'd always been so sure of everything all of my life, but not this time. This time, I was absolutely positive.

So that mid-afternoon, I got dressed and loaded up the truck with Jacob's name on my lips. Kate helped me get all of my things ready, and when I was ready to go, she leaned against the truck with me and asked why I was leaving.

I wasn't afraid of telling the truth anymore—especially to her—so I looked at her straight in the eyes. "I really want him back," I explained, "but I'm kinda outta luck."

"Yeah, Bella, you need to go," she told me sternly. "You need him. He's what's right for you."

"You don't need to tell me twice," I said. "Will you be okay when I'm gone?"

"I've been okay for the year that you've been gone," she reminded me. "I'll be fine."

"No, Kate, you have to love yourself," I told her. "You have to."

She took my hand and smiled at me reassuringly. "I'll be brave when I'm ready, okay?"

"Okay, Kate."

We just stared at each other, and I couldn't find tears to weep for her. I didn't have to cry—no, I didn't have to cry at all—because I was doing what I had to do.

I believed Kate, too, though.

I believed that she would change when she was ready. She was stuck in her own labyrinth, and she was suffering just how I had. Just how I still was. Her sorrow was much worse than mine, but in the end, it was still sorrow. She would still wake up every morning with the company of neither Edward nor Garrett. She would still get high alone and live on bread and oranges. She would still be stuck in this hole, but that wasn't my responsibility. It wasn't my job to push her, because I knew what it was like to be pushed to change. It never went very far.

"Find your way," I told her solemnly. "Just when you're ready, okay? I'll bet it's beautiful."

She let go of my hand and nodded with a sad smile on her face. "I'll bet it is," she agreed.

* * *

I could have driven from Forks to Everett with my eyes closed. Maybe I should have. It was like I'd done it a thousand times over and over.

To say that I was excited to see Jacob would be a lie; I wasn't excited to see him at all. Just nervous. I was just waiting to meet him again. If it were possible, I would be running to him instead of driving. There were only a thousand things I wanted to tell him, and none of them had to do with calling him a fucker over the phone. I didn't deserve to be angry with him. No, I didn't deserve it at all. If anything, he deserved to be angry with me. He deserved to throw all my shit out and set it on fire, for all I'd done to him. I knew he wouldn't though; Jacob loved me more than I deserved, and that made me love and that him all at the same time.

The voice of Nirvana idly on the radio told me, "Come as you are."

And so I would.

* * *

This situation would have been scarily similar to when I'd first reconnected with Jacob, almost a year ago, if I wasn't dressed so differently from that day now. On that day, I'd been in heels and a skirt and a load of makeup. I'd probably looked like a prostitute, after a trip that long. As if it was really important now, I didn't care. I came as I was, in jeans and sneakers and an oversized jacket I hadn't worn since I'd been seventeen.

Then again, this situation truly was scary similar to the other time. That aching feeling—that one terrifying, treacherous thought—was back in my body and mind. I couldn't avoid it.

_What if he doesn't like me?_

I approached the door to his apartment and knocked. I knocked tentatively three times, but then I gave seven more rapid knocks. What felt like minutes later, the door finally swung open, and Jacob Black was staring down at me.

He didn't look nervous or scared at all, like the first time. Just heartbroken. At least that made two of us.

He didn't say anything, so I asked, "Can we talk for a minute?"

And he didn't say no.

* * *

"So are you gonna tell me why you ran after rejecting my proposal?" he asked me. He was still calm; it almost scared me. If I were him, I would have been livid. Absolutely vapid. But he was just collected and cool about me disappearing for days. Maybe he just wanted answers. Maybe he just wanted this to be over.

I sighed and took my place on the couch. He sat on the love seat on one of the other sides of the room, so I knew I wasn't completely forgiven, but at least he'd let me inside. What I would give to have him touch me again… just to know he acknowledged me as a person as opposed to a monster…

"This isn't what I'm supposed to do," I told him. "Jacob, I love you, but things can't be like this. You asked me to 'settle,' and I don't settle. Ever. That's why I ran."

"You could have told me that," he said, scratching the stubble along his jaw.

"No, I couldn't," I replied lamely. "I just… I can't do it. That's it. That's not me."

"Why are you making such archetypes out of yourself?" he asked sharply. "First, you act like a teenager. Next, you act like you're so ready to start the next part of your life with me. Bella, please explain. I'm begging ya."

"It's not like it's on purpose," I replied. "You've seen it before. We develop archetypes over time. Through each other, we become ourselves. Don't you know that? We turn into different people and personalities based on how things are. I think I know exactly what I want and who I want to be now."

"But not with me," he said bitterly, standing up. I didn't even flinch. "You want to be a robot? A druggie? Look at you—you're already halfway there." He started walking down the hallway to his—our?—room, and I got up and followed his long strides.

"I am not a robot _or_ a druggie," I told him.

"Then why are you doing this?" he asked, still faced away from me outside his bedroom door.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But… Look at me."

He didn't move.

"Look at me, Jacob," I said, sharper.

He turned around reluctantly. "Yes?"

"Can you teach me how to feel real again?" I asked. "Because I… I don't know what that is."

Jacob looked down at me, and it made me want to cry. He slowly, carefully brought his hand up to cup my face, and in his eyes I saw a hurt man with purple circles underneath his eyes. He'd had high hopes and dreams, but they'd suddenly came crashing down due to me. Just me. He was the type of man who wanted more than others thought he would be allowed to. He was the type of man who strived and strived _and strived_ for what he wanted.

I was the type of woman who crushed dreams of both my own and others, but I couldn't look away.

I didn't want to hurt Jacob. He was the only man I couldn't ever dream of hurting, yet I'd done it, anyway. I'd given and I'd taken just a little too much, but I wanted to make up for it. Jake had taught me a lot of things, and one of them was that second chances existed. Second chances were real and genuine and _thriving_. They didn't disappear over time; opportunities did. This one wouldn't die, though. It couldn't die.

With his warm hand upon my face and my own hand on his, he nodded somberly. That one nod had me convinced that he still wanted me, and that was all I needed. I needed to be his. I needed to be assured that I hadn't totally demolished every fragment that had been _us_. We were still infinite. We were still limitless.

We were still Jake and Bells.

"Alright?" I murmured.

He licked his lips and nodded again. "Alright."

* * *

I missed the way his rough hands felt against my bare body. I missed the way he skillfully guided my hips as I rode our love out. I missed the way his fingers played in my hair (amongst other places) timidly. I missed the way his slight touches sent a thousand currents of adrenaline racing through my body. I missed the way the hairs of his arms or legs or chest would tickle me and make my heart flutter. I missed the way his lips felt on mine, soft in comparison to the rest of his body.

I missed the way he looked from the bottom, and I missed the way he looked from the top. I missed the sheen of sweat across his face. I missed the overwhelmed, focused expression he made when he finally climaxed. I missed the way he fell back onto the pillows, looking up at me in pure amazement. I missed looking up at him, waiting for more, digging my fingernails into the skin of his strong shoulders. I missed his amazing body that must have been carved personally by God, like He'd had a lot of time just for Jacob.

I missed the little groans he made when I'd touch him a certain way. I missed the sweet little nothings he mumbled in my ear. I missed the squeaking of the springs in the mattress, the scraping of the bed against the wooden floor, and the creaking of the pressurized headboard under his hands. I missed his heavy breathing that matched mine. I missed the sounds of our bodies coming together and apart. I missed his sincere, unpretentious laughter. I missed the way he said—or grunted, or panted, or gasped, or moaned—my name aloud, like my name in itself was the relief that held him together. I missed that a lot.

I missed the smell of lovemaking. I missed the contrasting smells of salt and something sweet but not sugary. I missed his woodsy cologne. I missed the natural scent of peppermint and boy and home.

I missed the taste of his salty body. I missed tasting and tasting him over and over, hypnotized, romanticized, and never getting sick of it. I missed that just a little too much.

I missed Jacob Black. I still did.

I especially missed how he just gazed at me afterwards. Those forgiving brown eyes never left mine. Not even once. For minutes—or hours or days, even—I tried to keep my hands to myself, but I couldn't keep them away from Jacob. My eyes never left his as I traced the fine lines of his gracious body, and his hands traced mine. We didn't have to exchange words; there was simply nothing to say.

I'd never been very good at goodbyes, even as I'd left many people many times before. I was still bad at letting things go, though. Especially the nice things. And as of now, I didn't know if this was a goodbye _or_ a hello. As I dozed off, facing the man I loved, I finally realized that it was neither a goodbye nor a hello: it was a _welcome home._

* * *

I awoke after the sun went down, and I must have stirred around too much in my sleep, because my fingers were in his hair and my legs were wrapped around his waist and my lips were on his cheek. That was okay. My hair was all over his face, and that was okay, too.

I wasn't at all disoriented; I knew exactly where I was and exactly who I was with. If anything, we'd had sex longer than we'd slept. But at the same time, I was confused. I was confused as to where we stood now. Could I call myself his fiancée? No. His girlfriend? I wasn't sure. I didn't know what we were anymore, but we were _real_. I'd had enough of the fake.

Jacob's eyes suddenly fluttered open, and he sighed. Smiling at me like I was his favorite person in the world, he looked like an angel straight from heaven. In some sort of alternate universe, I wouldn't be surprised if he was. "Good morning," he said pleasantly.

I smiled back. "It's nighttime," I told him. I glanced at the digital clock. "Well, sort of," I added. "It's eleven-thirty."

"Shit, it's late," he observed.

I nodded. "Yeah," I agreed.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"You don't have to cook."

"I don't want to," he said. "I told you last November that I'd take you to Dick's at midnight, so we should go to Dick's at midnight."

"Then let's go."

* * *

Clean and in a baby-doll dress and one of Jake's leather jackets, I hopped onto the back of Jacob's black motorcycle, where we then zoomed off and out of the city.

_This is where I belong._

Hugging Jacob's torso, I knew that this was right. Maybe I didn't have to analyze myself so much, but this time, I really was doing something right. Everything about this was so, so,_so_ right.

I knew I found heaven when we approached the fifties-styled fast food joint. The yellow and white lights on that dark, cool night truly were heaven. It was divine and celestial, much like Jacob, but not nearly as divine and celestial as Jacob. Then again, nothing came very close.

As I took off my helmet and watched Jacob take off his, I admitted that Dick's would have to be my new favorite spot, and he laughed. He'd apparently shown me the light.

So Jacob had been right: everything tasted better at midnight, just like he'd said. I'd never cherished a burger, fries, and a milkshake at this time as much as I had another, and I supposed every conversation sounded better at midnight, too, since I started one.

"You know what, Jake?" I asked him.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sick of calling myself lonely," I admitted.

With his mouth full of French fries, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"I made things crappy for myself, and I really didn't have to," I explained. "There's also nothing wrong with wanting more. I mean, Forks was tranquil, but it was mediocre, Jake, and I was rotting. I left Forks for the exact reason you left La Push, and I wanted to use something—no, I wanted _anything_—as an excuse to get away. I was so ashamed with how I was living because I thought I was a failure. And I was. But there is always room to change, Jake. Always. And…" Oh, _God_, the tears were coming in now. "And I made a change and ended up falling in love with the most brilliant, beautiful, dedicated, amazing man I've ever known. And what's really shitty is that I keep saying I'm lonely, when I don't have to be. I used it as an excuse to always step back from you, and that's fucking wrong. So, Jacob, I am sorry. I really am. I'm just… not ready for marriage. That's a big change, and I can't take it yet."

Jacob looked like he was thinking about it for a while, and then he nodded in understanding. "I can't give up, though," he replied.

I smiled coyly. "But I'm not giving in, either."

He wiped my tears away and said, "Come on, though, Bells. We're twenty-one. You're almost twenty-two. Does everything have to be your way?"

I widened my eyes. "We haven't even known each other for a year!" I rebutted. "We're practically strangers. Give me some time."

"I just want you to be my wife," he said, his hands out.

"No," I replied. "You're just eager to get me pregnant."

"No," he said, "I just wanna marry you… but imagine us having a kid." He grinned. "That'd be incredible."

I just shook my head no at him and crossed my arms, and that was when he took a small velvet box similar to the first one back on August fourth out of the pocket of his jacket. Jacob then got down on one knee, and I wasn't surprised again. Just angry.

"Jacob Black, I am going to kick you in the face if you do this again, I swear to God."

However, when he opened the box, I was presented with a simple silver band with minimal diamonds. It was like he was a professional proposer.

"Bella Swan," he began, "I am not asking you to marry me again."

I rolled my eyes.

"No, seriously," he said. "It's like a promise ring."

"Alright, then," I replied, unconvinced.

He stared up at me, his eyes wide and honest. "Bella, I am in love with you, okay? And I know you don't settle. You hate the word. You hate the thought of marriage. You hate the thought of babies. You hate the thought of moving away. I know. You hate it. But I just want to promise something, and I want you to promise me something, too."

I nodded, prompting him to continue.

"Please," he said quietly. "Please, please, _please_ always give me another chance. Please let me have a limitless, infinite amount of second chances with you because over the years, I'm definitely gonna need them. And yeah, I know I mess up a lot, but this is the least you could do, though it's still a lot. I promise to always love and understand you, just as long as you always give me a second chance. Will you do that for me, Bella? Please?"

Instead of responding with a yes or no, I went down to my knees on the pavement with him and stared at him straight in the eyes, my hand placed on his knee. This was the most level we could be with each other, and it was undeniably perfect.

"Jacob," I whispered. "You _never_ have to ask me for second chances. You'll always have them. Just please tell me you'll always give me more time."

"I'm always gonna give you more time," he promised. "I'll be the most patient man in the world."

"And I'll be the most forgiving woman in the world," I agreed. "Alright?"

"Alright."

* * *

We didn't get married and have four kids. We didn't get a big house with a white picket fence and a tire swing in the backyard. We wouldn't even grow old together yet, as far as I knew, but that was just the future. We didn't plan our future, though—we didn't have to. After enjoying our second trip to Dick's together (because everything really did taste better at midnight), we went back to our little apartment on Casino Road. We snuggled with our cat and indulged in _The Office_. And to think that we'd started out as strangers, in a way… It was funny. Anyone could give in to the kindness of strangers; it was just rare that anyone took the chance and actually did it.

I didn't need the entire world, and I didn't want it, either. I didn't need to dwell or rely on the things I had or hadn't done in the past. I didn't need to deceive or lie just to impress anyone. I didn't need to ruin other people or myself.

So Jacob and I didn't start our lives over immediately. Things were well… or better yet, alright. All I needed was this sweet little life. Yeah, it was sweet, and damn straight, it was little. But, God, was it _beautiful_. It was divine. All I needed was to love and be loved, and for the first time in my life, I was absolutely sure of it.

* * *

_**Fin**_

* * *

_**Concluding Author's Note**_

_Dear Reader,_

_Wow. It's over. It's actually over. Kinda Outta Luck ran for a good four months, from February to June. I'm glad we're finally here._

_It took me a while to find my flow on this story; I didn't know what I wanted at all. It hindered me, but thanks for sticking along. I've had some fast updates, some slow updates, etc. Thank you all so, so, so, so, so much. It was an interesting change, since the thing I wrote right before this was "Gods and Monsters," but I needed it. See? Incorporating themes! It's all about change. That's it. While writing, I try to get as uncomfortable as possible. That's the only way I conquer my fears._

_What's funny is that it still feels like I haven't written this story yet. It still feels like a random idea I got while walking to lunch at school one day that I've been writing in my head yet haven't published. That's the weird thing about all-human fanfiction to me; even as everything is real, it doesn't feel real at all. It doesn't haunt me in my dreams and I've never once woken up one day while writing Kinda Outta Luck and going, "HOLY CRAP, JACOB AND BELLA'S CAT SHOULD RUN AWAY." I don't get it._

_But I have written this story. It's over with. Initially, I wanted to write the entire story and then slowly publish it, but I'm bad at that. I can't keep long-running secrets. If I write something, I immediately think about sharing it because I have to, have to, HAVE TO share it. I love sharing what I have and I love feedback. I love people acknowledging my existence. You can say I'm a bit of an attention whore. I just love putting myself out there._

_I also love those who encouraged me while writing this. So here's a special thanks to:_

_-Ishraq_

_-Master Gaga_

_-Team Moriarty_

_-Lady Blackwater_

_-shay205_

_-Geneu_

_-withlovej_

_-ladybug82896_

_-PackPrincess123_

_-SaphireBlueAngelBlack_

_-OKBoom_

_-ilovfanfic_

_-spacecadette_

_-Gillian Cooke_

_-BurningThoughts_

_Also, thanks to those who didn't review but I've talked to about the story before:_

_-Tay_

_-Ro_

_-Abbi (she's not reading this, lol, she doesn't have an account)_

_-I want to say more but I'm not sure_

* * *

_So, thank you all so much._

_As of now, I've run out of things to say, so have a nice life, don't get evicted from your apartments, don't turn down proposals from amazing boyfriends, always make a change (since it's healthy, I mean), and don't leave your fricking cat at home for days because you were too busy to remember,_

_Your one and only musical Twilighter (who happens to be lovely). Infinite, limitless x's and o's._


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